To Each on the Ends
by Tearoom Saloon
Summary: Vriska Serket is an agent for her mother, The Marquise of Bath. After being sent on a mission to uncover information about The Summoner and beginning to fall for his son, she is sucked into the world of The Game, which will challenge her sanity at every bend. Stuck in a bleak, uncharted land where there is little hope of escape, winning is the only option. Steamstuck 1920s AU.
1. Call of the Marquise

**Rated T for language and future events that may eventually morph into M.**

**A Humanstuck AU set in prohibition-and-Mafia-infested New York City, 1926.**

**The genre's more like Adventure/Survival Horror/Mystery/Suspense/Romance.  
**

**Master Hussie has all the claims to Homestuck. ALL OF THEM.**

* * *

**=== Be the main female.**

She's currently sleeping. Are you sure you want to wake her?

**=== Yes, just get this story started already.**

Fine.

You are Miss Vriska Serket. Young, pretty, and rich; just how you like it.

* * *

Vriska rolled over as sunlight pierced through her eyelids. Ugh. It was early, much too early for a young lady to be waking. She buried her face in her pillows for another five minutes, trying her best to fall back asleep.

Nope. Wasn't happening.

With an internal groan, she sat up and rubbed her eyes. Her mane of hair was sticking out in every direction. Her head throbbed, body ached, and she couldn't remember a lick of last night. What…_happened_, exactly?

She pawed at her night table for her eyeglasses, wanting to get a better look at the room.

Oh. Oh dear.

Was that…uh. Who was in her armchair?

"AAAAAAAA-RAY-DEE-AAAAAAAA!"

The maid entered Vriska's room seconds later, stepping around the mess that occupied the majority of the floor. "Yes, ma'am?"

"What happened last night?"

The younger girl fought the urge to roll her eyes. "You threw another 'swanky' shindig, ma'am."

"Did I?"

"You did indeed."

Vriska frowned. "Who's in my chair?"

"It would appear to be the mayor's son, ma'am."

A flush spread across her cheeks. "Did I-"

"No, ma'am, you checked out downstairs. He was in your room when you were brought up to bed."

"Oh." Vriska pushed herself into a sitting position and immediately regretted it. "Aradia, I believe I'm hungover."

"I would not be surprised, ma'am."

"I don't want to punch in today."

It was from here that Aradia's hatred for her job stemmed. Miss Serket may be less vicious when hungover, not to mention a _great_ deal more tolerable when drunk, but when it came to asking her to do something she did not wish to—regardless of her intoxication level—she simply could not be persuaded. And, the young mistress _had_ to attend work, fancy it or not.

And it was almost always up to Aradia to convince her.

These socialites had no _clue_ how well they had it.

"Ma'am, I'm afraid that is impossible. You _must_ go. You _do_ own the establishment."

"But there'll be _booze_ there," Vriska whined. She did _not_ want to see another glass of _anything_ alcoholic for as long as she lived…or at least for another twelve hours.

Aradia bowed her head. "I'm sorry ma'am, but-"

A pillow slammed into the wood next to her head.

"_I said no!_"

"Miss Serket!" Aradia screeched. "This is no way for a sophisticated lady to behave!"

Ooh Aradia immediately regretted that. _Now_ she was in for it. When Vriska opened her mouth, she was sure the girl was about to fire her. Great. She needed this job, needed the money. She only worked for the devil because it paid well. Sheesh!

Vriska, instead of canning Aradia, let out a feral roar and slumped back into her nest of goose down pillows and silken sheets. "You're right. Fine."

"Pardon?"

Another pillow soared by Aradia's head as her mistress started to wake from her hangover-induced nice spell. Well, nice by her standards, anyway. The queen of the townhouse glared. "I said _fine_, I'd go. Now get out, fetch me some coffee."

The maid wasted no time exiting the room.

"And make it blacker than my mother's soul!" Vriska's voice echoed through the wooden door. Aradia's shoulders fell and she let out a long sigh. She was stuck in a never-ending cycle of absurdity and abuse from the mighty Marchioness of Avenue Five.

* * *

**=== Jegus she's a bitch. Follow Aradia instead.**

You cannot follow Aradia because Aradia has orders and cannot be bothered.

**=== Fine. FINE! Follow the Marchioness of whatever! Sheesh!**

You are once again Miss Vriska.

**=== Vriska: Get dressed.**

But that requires work. Uuuuuuuugh.

* * *

Vriska rolled to one side of her bed, completely finished with being eaten by the delightfully perfect mattress. Her feet hit the cold floor unpleasantly, causing a shiver to run through her body. One of those _cool_ mornings, was it? Curse New York autumns!

She threw open her wardrobe doors, walking into a small boutique of clothing. She was not nearly as fashion-obsessed as one of Avenue Five's regulars, a Miss K. Maryum, but Vriska had her guilty pleasures like the rest of the world. Shopping was on the top of that list. That is, shopping for circus trinkets such as cards and dice, not clothing. Still, the pretty blue fabrics on display would always lead her astray.

Picking out a not _too_ prude royal blue skirt suit, she shut the closet doors to change, mind still on the unconscious mayor's son in her favorite armchair. She was already concocting a nasty lie to tell his father if the chair wasn't in pristine condition. After all, alcohol _was_ illegal…

She'd have to do something about this mess of hair, Vriska decided as she stared at her reflection. She didn't quite fancy the idea of chopping it all off like the flapper girls, but at the same time it was _so long_. So unmanageable. And so 1800s.

A still-hungover but much sharper Miss Serket showed up to the main dining hall not long after ordering her maid away. There was company seated around the long mahogany table. Right, she threw a blow of a party, lots of house guests. Swell. Just…swell.

"There's our darling dame all dolled up!" There was a snicker from the other end of the table. Miss Terezi Pyrope, another of the Avenue's regulars, sauntered up to Vriska, a plate of toast and jam in her right hand.

Eventually Vriska would crack and ask why Terezi even showed up to her parties—and Avenue Five, for that matter. One thing set Terezi apart from the rest of the room; she didn't drink. Something to do with its outlawed status and taste. Yet she showed her mug around the Avenue and never missed a party. If Vriska wasn't swayed to believe otherwise, she'd say Terezi was being a good friend.

But then again, they weren't exactly _friendly_ friends.

Friendly rivals, if you will. Civil and polite about it, but rivals.

"Don't you look ritzy," Vriska replied with a snide smile, taking in Terezi's slightly disheveled appearance. Her short hair was in a tizzy, makeup smeared, dress hanging awkwardly off one shoulder, and a dark red splotch stuck out against the pale skin of her neck like an elephant in a taxi cab. The primped girl stared at it a moment and raised the appropriate eyebrow to accompany such a scandalous mark. Her companion, confused, fussed her free hand to the spot being inspected. She gave a little gasp as her fingers found the love bite, warm to the touch from the burst blood vessels.

To Vriska's unsurprise, she giggled and gave the lady of the house her wild, trademark smile. "I guess _someone _wasn't behaving last night. At least it's scarf season, eh Vriska?"

"Would that someone be you or the one who gave you that?"

"Oh, that's debatable, Miss Vriss," Terezi chided. With a chuckle and a wink, she turned on her heel and disappeared before Vriska could retort.

Well, now she had some investigating to do. Maybe dig up some dirt, find _something_ to bait Terezi with. A busy day was ahead, not even counting work. Thinking about it made her more tired. She took a seat at the head of the table and slumped over in future exhaustion.

"Is something the matter, dear?"

Miss K had one eyebrow arched, a worried pout settled on her lips. Unlike the other guests who stayed overnight, Miss K was groomed and in a fresh change of clothes. Vriska briefly entertained the thought of her carrying around a spare outfit in a carpet bag.

"Oh, no, nothing at all. Same old, same old," she lied and brought a cup of java to her mouth.

"Ah. Carry on." The mature girl looked at her in such a way it sent prickles down her spine. Miss K had the most piercing of stares, reading her prey like a picture book.

Vriska lowered her glass to rebuke her friend's assumption when a polished silver telephone was thrust in her face. "Your mum, milady," the maid with the shiny platter announced.

With a wary glance at Miss K, she picked up the handset. "Mummy?"

"Good morning, my darling daughter. It is morning there, right, bun?" her mother chirped in that sadistically sweet voice. It meant trouble; the cutesy tone always meant trouble. Vriska stood abruptly and walked into the parlor, away from the leftover company, the maid carrying the rest of the contraption following closely behind.

"Yes, it's morning here, mummy dearest."

"Good, I hope I woke you." Oh, there was her mother's normal cold tone.

"Hate to disappoint, mummy, but you interrupted breakfast," Vriska replied with feigned sweetness.

"Not as satisfying. I have business to attend to, sweets, so let's make this snappy."

_You're the one stalling,_ Vriska thought bitterly. "What is it, mummy?"

"I have a job for you, ducky. I need you to dig up all the little gems you can about someone. Can you do that for your darling mummy?"

"I'd need a name, mummy; I can't read your mind."

"Could if you triiiiiiiied," she sing-songed. "I don't have a name, button, but a moniker. A man who goes by "The Summoner". Silly, right, dumpling?"

"You have a silly title as well," Vriska mumbled, beckoning for a pen and paper.

"Not nearly as silly. He doesn't frequent your establishment from what I've heard, kitten, so you'll have to look for treasure in other places. Now go powder your nose, pet, it's going to get dirty quite soon. I have to split, sweetums. Kisses!" The line went dead.

That woman. Sometimes Vriska was unsure if she should be proud to be related or embarrassed. Honestly, the pet names! Revolting. But then again, this was the _Marquise_ she was talking about. The Marquise of Bath, Miss Mindfang: a British blue-blood who married and widowed early. So early, Vriska couldn't remember her father's face.

Beautiful, another person's life to snoop through. Granted, this was an order from Mumsie, and thus more important than embarrassing Terezi. Besides, it wasn't as if she didn't enjoy screwing around in other people's personal lives.

Jotting down instructions, Vriska called Aradia to her. "I need you to acquire the number of a Mr. Ampora," she said, handing her the list.

"The man who owns the rivaling speakeasy?"

"Yes, that one. I need his personal telephone. He doesn't like cooperating with _me_ but has no knowledge of _you_. It should be easier if you do this and not me."

Aradia nodded and took off, pleasantly surprised by her mistress' mild behavior. She was usually in a fit after speaking to the Marquise, a fit that involved the breaking of numerous objects. A cold demeanor was very welcome in comparison.

Vriska groaned and massaged her temples as she walked back to the hall. This was the anti-cure to her hangover. More headaches, more things to worry about. In a fit state, she'd be ecstatic. Mumsie always had the best assignments. Occasionally boring and tedious, but always riddled to the bone with blackmail potential.

And difficult to execute. Always, _always_ difficult. Mumsie wanted her darling little girl to be the toughest kid on the block. Years and years of obstacles and punishments had assured this. A tingling sensation spiraled through Vriska when she recalled the seriousness of her mother's tone. This would be a challenge if there ever was one, and she'd pay in liquid rubies if she screwed up.

"You look as though you've seen a spook." Miss K looked worried.

"No, but close enough. Mumsie's having me commit capers for her again."

She raised an eyebrow. "Don't you perform criminal acts daily? Running that tavern cannot possibly be legal."

"It's not; we sell _liquor_. However, I've enough blackmail on the city council to stay open. Some are even regulars. Anyway, Mumsie's tasks on the other hand are…_risky_. Mumsie doesn't play nice."

"She's not asking…you're not _killing _anyone, are you?" Her voice was barely a whisper.

"Heavens no! No, no murders. Reconnaissance."

"On someone, I take it?"

"A man who goes by "The Summoner"? I've never heard of him."

Miss K's eyes widened, mouth curling into a frown. "_Vriska!_" she hissed. "He's a member of…" she looked around and leaned towards the lady of the house, voice low. "He's a _Mafia_ boss. The Marquise is going to get you _killed_."

_"A Mob boss?"_ A ferocious smile inched its way across her face. "That, _that_ is a challenge." She sprang from her seat, almost knocking her chair over. "Miss K, my dear, I have to get to work. Thank you for this little tidbit, I'll see you later tonight?"

"Wait, Vriska!"

But she wasn't listening, eager to begin work on her new task. A mob boss! This was easily eight times more exciting than spying on Terezi for a week! She almost forgot a hat on her way out she was so enthused. Perhaps she was just a silly girl, but there was something _romantic_ about the Mafia. The danger, the shadiness of it all.

"Take me to Mr. Ampora's, I have business with the fish-boy. And floor it," she told her driver before climbing in the back of the sleek black Lincoln limousine.

Step one: Learn which Mafia family frequented Eridan's joint.

* * *

**A/N:** Um, hi everyone! If you managed to get here, I applaud you for braving my writing XD  
I feel like I should have an author's note because they make the stories seem more personal for some reason (well, to me, anyway), and I'd rather not be a total stranger to anyone reading.

I'm not sure I'm writing these characters right, mainly Vriska. I don't think I'm making her cruel enough. WHELP I SHOULD CHANGE THAT.

If anyone catches an grammar, spelling, or other errors, please point them out. I usually pride myself in my English abilities but I'm sure as hell not going to catch every little mistake.  
And critiques! Critiques are nice :D

* * *

**Sorry I gotta label you off like this but Guest One!  
**Aww thank you! I still feel awkward that she's not mean enough but WHATEVER! It'll sort out...I hope.

**Guests Dos & Tria!**  
Saving space here sorry guys but you're both too kind. I hope to be writing more!...soon.

**Guest Quatre!  
**Look at all of these languages, Guest Quatre. I can't speak any of them aside from English.  
Thank you! And yes, Mindfang's speech is terrible and Tastes Like Diabetes. Which is a Trope, if you were wondering.


	2. The Blue Panther

**=== Be the main male.**

He's kind of busy, do you care?

**=== Not particularly. I mean, I _did_ come here to _read_.**

Yes, you're right, sorry.

You are now Mister Tavros Nitram, or, if your father were saying your name, Pocotoro Nitrani. Toro for short. Then he'd remind you that everything he did was all about love and pride for the home country, Italia. _Then_ he'd go on jabbering for an hour about your dear sweet nonna, Lucia, who raised him all by herself after your nonno, Giuseppe, became a Don and it wasn't safe for your papa or your nonna to stay in Sicily due to so many threats and she went north and yadda yadda yadda. Boy, your papa can talk _both_ of someone's ears off.

* * *

Tavros held his cards so close to his face he was nearly nibbling on the edges. After "bleeding" so many times in the past fifteen minutes, he was pretty sure his hand was no mystery. If his partner knew, he said nothing, watching Tavros with a dazed expression.

Gamzee, waking from a space-out spell, snapped to attention. "Is it my turn?"

"Yes, I believe so."

"Oh, well okay then." He glanced both ways and gave Tavros a goofy grin. "Aces?"

"Dammit." Tavros chucked two cards towards his friend, who chuckled in victory.

"Your face is the cat's pajamas, little brother."

Tavros was about to argue that his face was _not_ in fact sleepwear for a cat when water dripped onto his head for the umpteenth time. He groaned and shuffled slightly forward, trying to escape the never-ending dripping party. "Why are we hanging around down here again?"

"Cause our daddies would brew a nasty tempest if they knew we were a friendly duo. C'mon, my legs are falling asleep. Wanna swing 'round the corner for some noodle juice?"

"Why not? I'm getting rained on down here." Tavros collected the cards back into a deck and slipped them into his jacket pocket. Hanging out in the abandoned cellar was fun for a while, but the space was a little damp for his liking. He was not a fan of these wet basements like Gamzee. He wished they didn't have to sneak around so much; he absolutely detested lying to his old man.

But sometimes friendship between the few meant war between the many.

Tavros pulled himself onto the stacked boxes that led to the exit. He stepped up two large crate before gripping the sides of the hole in the ceiling, clambering out and up into the daylight. It stung his eyes, seeping in from the windows and flooding the room in sparkling sun.

"You okay, little brother?" Gamzee called after he sat for a moment too long, legs dangling down into the hideout.

Tavros scooted over, leaving space for his friend. "I'm swell, sorry, didn't know it was so late."

"What do you—oh lord!" Gamzee ducked back into the hideout, rubbing his eyes furiously. "It's like happiness threw up _everywhere_."

"Um…?"

"Brighter than the Pope's bare bottom." He pulled himself through the hole and immediately shielded his eyes. "Let's make like bananas and split. What do you say?"

"I'm all for it." Tavros wedged the old trunk back in place over the hole.

It was nearly noon. As they walked at too hurried of a pace for Tavros' liking to the tearoom, he couldn't help but worry about the timing of everything. Gamzee liked to sit in the shop and drink his 'miraculous noodle juice' with a slice of pie for an hour and talk. It was a daily routine. They were late today, and Tavros had promised his father he'd be home in time for some ceremony. Gamzee would be upset if he left early, but his father would skin the poor boy before he could fumble an explanation if he was a second late.

Now came the challenge: to upset his father or his friend?

Conflicted, he walked into something.

Or rather, some_one_.

"Christ! Are you _blind?_"

Tavros, slightly dazed, rubbed his injured head. "I'm so, so sorry. Are you okay?"

"No! I _will_ be, as long as I'm not _concussed_," the girl spit, narrowing her deep blue eyes. "Watch the hell where you're going."

She stormed off, not asking if he was right and chipper.

"Wasn't she a box of flowers?" Gamzee gave a low whistle. "They just don't hatch hens the way they used to."

"Into older women, eh?"

"Nah, bro. I'm into classy dolls. Not the kind you play dress-up with. Not these flapper girls."

"She _hardly_ looked like a flap," Tavros said and dropped to retrieve his hat.

"Oh?"

"Long hair, jewelry. Don't flapper girls have short hair and seem, well, boyish?" He flipped his fedora back onto his head and…wait.

"I guess, I guess. And boyish dolls aren't my kind of play toy, if you catch my mean, little brother…what is that?"

Tavros held up a shining diamond-shaped…well, _diamond_. Its eight facets were marked from one to eight. "Do you think she dropped it?"

"Mighty strong possibility. Might as well pocket that gem."

"What! That's stealing!"

Gamzee shrugged. "Not like you're ever gonna see her again, right? If you do I guess you can hand it back, Mister Do-Good."

"I hope I do." He didn't quite fancy the idea of stealing, even if it was accidental. Oh, the irony of his morals.

Gamzee held the door open as they entered the familiar tearoom. The aroma of fresh blends filled the small space, overpowering Tavros' senses. There were silky, smoky green teas, strong black blends, cool oolongs, and misty herbals. It was the candy parlor of a tea connoisseur. Patrons sat in an array of couches and armchairs, some talking quietly and others reading dusty old books. He'd never admit it out loud, but Tavros considered the cozy shop a second home.

The hostess of the establishment smiled widely at the two regulars. "Hello boys, I've been wondering when you'd show up. It's far past elevenses."

"We got a little caught up is all." Gamzee gave her a sheepish grin.

"I feel I shouldn't need to ask, but same as usual for you?"

"Ever and always."

"I've got a new English blend," she said, turning to Tavros. "Interested?"

"Of course! You know me, always a fan of new teas."

She smiled. "It's a cream tea. Got a particular flavor of jam you're hot about?"

"Not really. Surprise me?"

She winked a bright green eye. "Gotcha, tiger."

Gamzee spread out on an aubergine sofa, rustling the beaded fringe. He managed to take up the whole space by himself, so Tavros slid into a dark chocolate armchair, as per usual. He liked the chair better, anyway. It was one of those leather antiques you'd stereotypically see in book-lined studies. He could fall asleep in it. Had done so on more than one occasion.

"I can't stay forever today."

Gamzee raised an eyebrow. "Why ever not?"

"Well, we were late getting here, and I promised Papa I'd be back in time for some ceremony. I hate to leave you and all, but my dad's a scary guy when angry, and I'd rather avoid seeing him wound up."

"What time?"

"Half past one."

His companion stroked an invisible beard. "Fair enough, little brother. Family comes first, right?"

Tavros let out a small sigh of relief and nodded at the double meaning. The unspoken rule: family came first, always. They both knew how it was. It was a sort of a burden the two shared, though not together. It was something they understood and experienced in their separate ways. Life would be so much easier if they could cast aside this "family pride" and be friends openly instead of having to sneak around. Honestly, friends were suppose to be there for you, but how could either of them be there for the other if it meant they'd get their head lopped off? Or at least severely punished?

Man, family rivalries were a bouquet of knives.

"So what's the ceremony all about? Don't tell me your old man's gonna swing right 'round and make you a member."

"Probably not, considering I've yet to…"

"Yet to what?"

Tavros got up to whisper in Gamzee's ear. He wasn't comfortable saying it out loud. _"I've yet to kill someone."_

A confused expression crossed his friend's face. "Murder's one of your obligations?"

Tavros nodded.

"Well _mo dhia_, little brother. Guess I'm the lucky one of us two, huh? Not being Italian and all. We don't have that dumb rule."

"What irony."

Gamzee laughed. "Cheers, mate."

The hostess appeared carrying a tray of tea and scones. "I'd say I fixed it all just now, but then I'd be lying. It'd be a tragedy if I wasn't prepared when my two most frequent boys walked in the door." She gave her trademark bright—if not slightly crooked—smile and set the tray down on the circular coffee table between them. "Let me know how you like that blend, m'kay? Need to know if I should have a pot ready tomorrow afternoon." And with that, she flitted back to her post.

"Is it just me or did Jade seem a bit…_flirtier?_"

"I think it was just you. But…" Gamzee punched Tavros' shoulder lightly before he could return to his seat. "Methinks you should go slip that little lady a date for tea sometime, and not in her own shop."

"Isn't that a bit forward?"

"That's the point, you sack of potatoes."

"Oh."

Tavros blushed. Gamzee sighed.

"Moving on from your thick skull, let's have a look at that prize you won for headbutting that doll on the street earlier."

Tavros nearly spit out his tea. "It is not a _prize_ and I did not _headbutt_ her…on purpose, anyway."

"Regardless, little bro, you've got it now. May I steal a closer look?"

"Fine." He reached into his breast pocket and took out the diamond. It was cool to the touch and stained a slight blue. Cut to beautiful angles, it was the work of a proper craftsman.

Gamzee straightened up to allow Tavros space on the plush sofa. The two mulled over the diamond, sipping tea as they went. "I've got a thought of who it belongs to, but you're not going to like it. Heck, _I_ don't even like it."

"How bad could it be?…Well, it _could_ be a Peixes gem. I do _not_ want a feud with them."

Gamzee shuddered at the name. "No, no, nothing that horrible. That would be classified as 'world ending shenanigans'. Which this isn't, I hope. But it's still far from a bowl of berries."

"Well, what's under Peixes-level horrible?"

"Sharks."

Tavros rolled his eyes.

"A certain British family."

"…_The Windsors?_"

Gamzee slapped his forehead. "Let's try the name _Serket_. Any bells, Friar John?"

"You mean the crazy Marquise?"

"No, I probably mean her daughter."

They stared at each other in silence.

"You keep it!"

"_You_ stole it, it's properly yours!"

"Too bad don't want it! Happy early birthday!"

"Merry early Christmas!"

"Happy months-away Easter!"

"Belated All-Saints Day present!"

* * *

They're going to continue like this for some time. Let's do something more productive, shall we?

**=== Be past Vriska**

She's not in the mood.

**=== Fine, be current Vriska**

You are now current Vriska, who still really isn't in the mood. You're in a bit of a fit over losing one of the precious dice Mumsie gave you when you turned eighteen a little over a year ago. Your mental state is questionable.

* * *

"What am I going to do, _what am I going to do?_"

"You could stop pacing, ma'am. I'm afraid you'll wear a hole to China at this rate."

Vriska stopped and stared bullets at Aradia. She was _not in the mood_. "I had to go _back_ before I even made it to fish-boy's pub! I've gotten _no where!_ Look at me, I'm a mess!"

"More like a shipwreck."

Vriska opened her mouth but found she hadn't a retort to that one, dissolving into unintelligible noises. She crumpled to the floor. "Aradia, I want you to write out my last will and testament for me. Could you do that, please?"

…This puzzled Aradia. Especially the 'please'. "Are you, um, _dying_ from this, ma'am?"

"No, no. But Mother will make sure I'm well dead when she finds out. Which may as well be in a few hours. She's got a very large information web."

The maid pressed the back of her hand to Vriska's forehead. "I think you're delirious, ma'am."

"I'm having a slight mental breakdown, it's possible. Remind me to repaint the ceiling? I'm no fan of the color pink."

Aradia looked up. It was eggshell with a soft seafoam trim. _Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name—_

"Aradia, what are you doing?"

"Praying for your sanity, ma'am. I'd much prefer a cranky, arrogant, snobbish you to a sniveling, sappy mess."

"I'll be fine in an hour or eight."

"Yes, but right now you're being a drama queen."

"I can't help it, I lead a dramatic life."

The maid rolled her eyes. "Hardly."

"Interesting, at least."

"Are you absolutely _positive_ you dropped it?" She sat on the floor next to her fragile-minded employer. She'd seen her in such a state only twice before, each time related to a failed mission. Each time the poor girl had been scared for her life. Sometimes, Aradia felt like the luckier of the two, despite being on one of society's lower planes of existence. These socialites, sometimes they had it so _rough._

Vriska nodded, curling her legs up to her body. "I accidentally bumped into this boy on my way to Eridan's joint, you know how it's part of the code to not pull up directly in front of speakos. I got all huffy and blamed him, though to be painfully honest it was _my_ fault. I acted like I was throwing a rager in his honor and stormed off and oh my _God_, Aradia, what am I going to _do?_"

"Sounds like you got what you deserved," she said, stroking Vriska's long blonde hair.

"But in reality, what am I actually going to do?"

"I'm…not sure. What did the boy look like?"

"Generic and bland."

_"Vriska."_

"Brown hair, hazel eyes, slight tan? He was dressed pretty ritzy for such a young kid. Suit and a feathered fedora and all."

"How old would you say?"

"Not yet twenty. Maybe my age? Could be a bit younger. He was with another kid, too."

"And what'd he look like?"

"A Makara. Mavara. Or Mabhara, however you say it."

"…should I know what that means?"

"Tall, red hair, freckles. Slightly dazed. You _should _know the name. They're the old Irish family that owns more than half of Hell's Kitchen."

"So you ran into a Don's son?"

"I would assume so? I mean, I don't think the Irish mob calls their bosses 'Dons'."

"I wasn't referring to the young Irish lad."

"Oh." She sat up. "_You think that was a Don's kid?_"

"It's _possible_…well, now that I think about it, probably not. The Irish mob and the Mafia are on terrible terms. The combination sounds unlikely."

"I hope to the sweet heavens you're right; I'll pay with my soul if I upset the Mafia in any way, to both them _and _my mother."

"Whatever the case, I can deploy some agents to hunt the boy down for you, if you are so inclined."

"No, no. That is a _bit_ on the extreme side. Plus that description fits at least half the men in New York City. It'll be a wild goose chase." Vriska looked around in a daze. "I think I need a nap, the furniture's moving."

"And here I thought you'd been improving." Aradia stood and held her hands out to the older girl, who pulled herself up in a less-than-graceful manner. "Please tell me that's all part of your mental break down."

"I sure as hell hope so."

They walked in silence down the long corridors. The old manor house was bright in the afternoon glow. High arched windows lined the passageways and clung at the walls of all rooms on the perimeter, painting everything in bright sunlight. It was a living nightmare to open and close them all in the summer, and switching the storms for screens was a weekend chore.

Aradia broke the silence when they made it to Vriska's chambers. "I got Mr. Amproa's telephone number."

"What, really? You should have told me that first!"

"Pardon me, ma'am, but you were panicking the moment you walked in the house."

"Oh. Right. Sorry. Thank you for that. It's very important. How'd you get it so quickly?"

Aradia held a finger to her lips. "That's a secret. Now, c'mon, let's get you to bed. I'll check back on you in a few hours, okay?"

Vriska let out a humorless laugh. "You're too good to me. You're like my _mother,_ if she did motherly things."

"Nonsense!" Aradia smiled. It was true, in a way. But she always pictured herself as more of an older sister, growing up with the girl and all. Vriska wasn't _always_ horrible. She had her moments. She'd be lying, however, if she said she wasn't worried about what this mission would to do her employer's mental state.

"Do you need anything else?" the maid asked after tucking Vriska in.

"I'm fine for now, thank you. Can't promise if I'll be better or worse when I wake up."

"I'll be prepared for a hurricane," Aradia joked. "Now get some rest."

She exited the room as quietly as possible and hurried down the hallway at an alarming pace. "Is Miss K still in the manor?" she asked a passing servant.

"I believe so, her carriage hasn't shown up yet."

"Good. Send her to me in the parlor. Pass the word on, it's important."

Now, to make preparations.

* * *

**A/N: Red hair and a hand-me-down robe? YOU MUST BE A WEASLEY.**  
Oh, no, I hope not. Weasley!Gamzee would be incredibly scary. Sober!Gamzee with a wand sounds scarier than Eridan with one...

I'd like to thank everyone for the reviews! They're really sweet and constructive.

So here we have chapter two~ Which was eight times more difficult to write, because Tavros is kind of boring at the moment (don't worry, he gets better next chapter). Vriska's mental breakdown was a bit...unplanned. And a little out of character. Handling that was a tad difficult. As was Gamzee. He's...he'll be the death of me.

And now we've got three out of five mob families mentioned. The Italians, Irish, and Portuguese (which I'm nearly positive didn't exist but hey, writing fiction here). Curious to know any guesses as to whom the other two are :D

I'm having a bit of fun changing their names to match their assigned cultures, but no worries, it's mostly for novelty reasons. They will hardly be, if EVER, addressed as such.

As always, any error catching and reviews are loved :D

* * *

**To my darling reviewers:**

**AnonymousMG:**  
Aww thanks dear. I try. If it ever gets boring, let me know.

**Kaneli Caprin:**  
Thank you! And thanks for reading!

**Guest:**  
I WILL CONTINUE UNTIL COMPLETION!

**binochan:  
**Pfft Tavros can't be stuttering every sentence in this AU. He'd get beaten up. A lot. Gamzee is my greatest nightmare. Him and Nepeta. I am just going to cry all over my laptop trying to write them in the same scene...let's make sure that never happens. But thank you! I'm taking some liberties but I hope they don't push on the suspension of belief too much.

**Loki:**  
You have a sneaky name. I like it. There are Portuguese Mobsters _now_, but they weren't a huge group, if even a group, back in 1920s New York. Chicago and St. Paul, perhaps. New York? Mostly the Irish, Russians, and Italians.


	3. The Picture of Vriska Gray

**=== What the heck was that? Be the maid!**

Whoops. Sorry, but no. What she's doing is a secret.

**=== That hardly sounds fair.**

Tough luck, kid. Pick the next one.

**=== All right. Be Vriska.**

She's sleeping. Dreaming something weird, actually.

**=== …Does that mean you're going to let me be her?**

Hmm. Let me think. No.

**=== Argh! You're so impossible! _Just let me read, dammit!_**

You are now Mister Nitram.

**=== _NOT HIM AGAIN!_**

Too bad. Have a blast, kid.

* * *

"I still think you've lost your marbles somewhere down the way."

Tavros sighed. It was hard to explain his motives.

All right, that was a lie, no it wasn't.

He had this…_thing_…where he liked to help people. It was bizarre, really. The son of the most infamous Don in the whole Mafia liked to _help people_. He was a headcase, as his father liked to constantly remind him. A few screws loose, not cut out properly for his birthright.

_"How do you expect to replace me when the time comes?"_ his father had asked in a conversation from many years ago, back when Tavros was barely seven. _"There's a litter of stray kittens in your room, we've got more puppies than the pound, and I swear I found a bird last week in the kitchen. Poco, this is getting crazy. Pazzo."_

_"I'm sorry, Papa. It's just I…"_

_ "It's just you what?"_

He had then proceeded to curl up at his father's feet, much to the Don's distress. He wasn't very good at this parenting business. _"I want her back," _he had sobbed.

_"Your mamma?"_

He'd cried harder and nodded.

_"I do too, Poco." _The Don had picked his sniveling child up off the floor. _"I miss her every day. Is that why you take in the strays?"_

_ "Cause they don't have mommies. T-they're like me, and I d-don't want them to f-f-feel lonely."_

His father hadn't a response to this. He carried his young, motherless son to bed and nursed a bottle of scotch later that night, knowing exactly how his boy felt. Lonely, missing, detached.

Tavros' mother had been a wonderfully sweet woman. Warm, loving, and strong. She seemed almost out of place at the Don's side, being something of a saint whilst he walked among the fallen angels. She had looked after Tavros with almost no help. His father had been caught in work obligations, twisted into two halves unable to decide whether to stay by his son's side and put him in further danger or distance himself, assuring some form of protection. The Don's want for his boy's safety had ultimately won and he stayed off to the edges of his son's life, the two never having a close relationship until the Don's wife perished. She had withered away, sick in bed, unable to stand, too weak to move her legs. Her death had broken both father and son, unknowingly pushing them together, forcing them to use each other as crutches to stand tall.

It was because of her and her gentle nature that Tavros had come to his decision. "I'm perfectly sane, thank you. I'm going to return it."

"But think of the _money_ you're tossing away! The sweet, sweet money! The Serket girl would probably _kill_ to get her hands back on that diamond."

"And _that_ is terrible and wrong and against all my morals."

"You're a Don-in-training, you don't have any morals."

"Yes, I do."

_"Then you're doing it wrong."_

"What, are you void of all that is just and good?"

"Um, yes. My da's _a bit nuts_. If _I_ act all rainbows and sunshine around him, he'll smack me 'round the head and teach me a lesson for being a _pansy._"

Tavros opened his mouth but failed to say anything. Gamzee didn't speak much about his home life. From what he'd gathered over their long and strange friendship, Gamzee's father was something of a tyrant; frightening on all levels and capable of scaring his children half to death with a sneeze. His own father was stern and had the temper of a volcano, but he wasn't insensibly violent. Never once had he struck his son or his men. _Family is family_, he would say, _they last forever, so be kind to those who will undoubtedly pick you up off the streets with no questions asked._

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, noticing the injured nerve.

"Nothing to be sorry about. Not your fault." Gamzee's tone was still dark.

"If you don't want to come with me, it's fine."

"Oh no, I want to come. I wanna see the look on the girl's face. She'll probably laugh at your insanity. No one's crazy enough to confront a wounded lioness. She's gonna rip your head off faster than you can explain yourself."

"…Thanks for your support."

"Anytime, little bro."

"So…do you know where she lives?"

"Of course not. Dark dealers don't usually make themselves easy to locate."

"Dark _what?_"

"Dark dealers. People who work on the black market, run information webs, own speakos, et cetera."

"I have _never_ heard that before."

"'Course not, I just made it up."

"…You do that a lot."

"I do indeed. Now, if you want to locate this banana-brained broad, you're going to have to enter the lion's den."

"What do you mean?"

"Well…" Gamzee sat up and stole one of Tavros' scones. "You know how we've got our little pacts and allied families? (Eww, _cranberry_ spread?) The family mine is teamed up with has a son our age. _He_ has a friend_—_or cousin, I can never remember which_—_that has connections into the Serket house."

"Whoa, really?"

"Yup. How do you think I knew who's diamond that was? I've heard stories, man. It's part of a set of eight."

"There are _eight_ of these? They must be worth a _fortune!_"

"Of course. Everything is worth a fortune when you're dealing with the blue-bloods. So whaddya say?"

Tavros felt…unsure. Did he want to return the gem? Yes. Yes, he really did. It was terrible, but true. This thing should go back to its owner. But was he going to risk being in enemy territory to figure out where the girl lived? No, that sounded like a horrible idea. Being with Gamzee was dangerous enough, coming from directly warring families.

"I'd say I'm a fraidy-cat and have no desire to get _shot_."

_"Taavrooss."_

"Nope. I like my body parts to remain intact."

"Then do you mind hanging out on your own for a few while I go be a good friend and find out for you?"

"I do not mind at all. That sounds like a wonderful alternative."

"Then I'm checking out. I'll be back…eventually. Don't wander off anywhere."

"Wasn't planning on it." Tavros picked up a Poe anthology from under the coffee table and slipped into the world of words.

* * *

**=== I'm not going to sit here and watch him read. Be someone else.**

You are now Gamzee Makara. If your mam were calling you, it'd be Gamdhá O'Meadhra, which of course is your Gaelic name and therefore near impossible to pronounce. Your name, along with your curly red hair, speckled cheeks, and pale complexion, is a sign of your prominent Irish heritage. Your eyes…well, let's just say purple isn't a common color for any culture. They're actually a faint, faint blue that looks purplish in some lights when you're wearing the right clothes on every other Tuesday in months ending in Y. You just say they're purple because it's far easier than explaining every damn time someone asks. Your da's a bit of a scary person who is completely and utterly unpredictable, which is downright _terrifying_. You've got six siblings, but of the seven of you, your da decided you were to be his successor. You've got no clue why, to be honest.

* * *

Gamzee checked his pocketwatch and frowned. This was going to be one rough day. Lots of running around followed by questions followed by more running and hiding and just a bunch of other stuff he did _not_ want to do.

But he would. What were friends for?

Number one thing he was going to avoid today: bumping into his da. Too scary, do not want. Slipping into Polish territory undetected was going to be so much unfun. He wasn't in _danger for his life_ like Tavros. He was in danger of being spotted and dragged back to some house to be told some story over peirogies and stalled like no tomorrow. He had to book it to the big stone mansion that looked very out of place in the neighborhood. Easier said than done. Still, he could manage…he hoped. At least he was close by.

A trolley and two blocks later, he was leisurely strolling across the long, green lawn of Stonehill, the headquarters of the Vantas family. Much easier done than said, for once in his life. Probably because meaningless travel narrations were boring.

Predictably lounging on the back terrace with a sappy romance novel was Karkat, Gamzee's oldest and closest friend. He was the Boss' son, but didn't seem very interested in the family business. Of course, he was a brilliant actor when the situation called for one, and Gamzee had always come to assume that the boy _did_ want to be the head honcho one day, with his leader-complex and all.

Gamzee had to sit next to the smaller boy to even get a fragment of his attention. "Boo."

Karkat jerked and fell off his chair backwards onto the stonework. He swore loudly and pulled himself up, attempting to beat Gamzee senseless with the poor hardcover. _"Jesus, _what the hell, Gamzee?"

"Sorry, sorry, you're fun to spook."

"Good lord, doesn't mean you have to do it every damn time you visit!" He placed his bludgeoning tool on a white metal side table and sat back down.

"Whoa, Karkat, what's on your neck?"

He flipped the collar of his shirt. "Absolutely fucking nothing."

Aww no, that wasn't going to work. The aggressively red patch spread all the way up to his jawbone, bright cherry and hopelessly obvious. "Who were you with last night?"

"None of your goddamn business."

"You've got a _huuuge_ hickey on your neck! I am _never _going to let you live that monster down."

"It's a rash. I was _home_ last night."

"There's no way that's a _rash_. Oh, was it the girl you've been eyeing for the past few months?"

"Shut it."

"The _really _cute one_—_"

"Knock it the hell off."

"_—_with the big smile_—_"

"_Gamzee_."

"_—_and the short hair?

"Fuck you."

"So I'm right, am I? Am I right, Karkat?"

"Look, be quiet about it, okay? My dad hasn't found out yet and I am _so_ murdered the moment he does. I think we'd both prefer me alive."

"Indeed. So where were you?"

"I got dragged to a party."

Gamzee cocked his head to the side, one eyebrow arched.

Karkat sighed and crossed his arms, his face turning redder than his hickey. "Terezi's sort-of friends with Vriska Serket, who throws parties like no one's business. She wanted me to go last night so I did and I _may_ have had something to drink and I _may_ have acted like an idiot and I _may_ have gotten a hickey."

"…You've got more than one, haven't you."

Karkat's eye twitched. "Storytime's over, get the fuck off my property."

"Aww Karkat! You've got a _girlfriend!_"

"Do not!"

"Do too!"

"No, I do _not_, we are not _dating_. I just got a little tipsy and did something _stupid_, all right? Past me is such a _moron_ sometimes."

"You _wish_ you were dating her." Gamzee flashed a goofy grin, a dreamy look on his face.

"Oh screw you." Karkat ran his hands through his hair, mussing its neatish state into an array of spikes. "What did you stop by for? There's no way you've got creepy psychic thoughts like Sollux where you know when I've done something dumb."

"Or _do_ I?" Gamzee laughed. "Nah, bro, came to ask a question. Do you happen to have Serket's address?"

It was Karkat's turn to look confused. "Why the _hell_ would you want to know where _she_ lives?"

"I've got something of hers and I need to give it back," Gamzee lied.

"_What?_ How did you_—_whatever. She's a few blocks out of our territory, in one of the ritzy mansions. It's white with these gigantic black wrought iron gates curled to look like a spider web. It's an eerie place, hard to miss."

"Whoa, she's in Brooklyn?"

"Yeah. Really joy, isn't it?"

"Thank _god_ I don't live near you."

"Was that all you wanted?"

"Yeah, mate. Sorry to intrude on your reading session for something so trivial. Mind if I take my leave? I've got other business to take care of."

"Not at all. It's nice to see you sometimes. But only sometimes."

Gamzee chuckled. "Love you too, Karkat. I'll visit later in the week."

"Don't get shot."

"You either."

Gamzee returned to the tearoom an hour after he left Tavros. It was more crowded now, with Gamzee's abandoned sofa being one of few seats unoccupied. Tavros sat in his armchair, either asleep or nodding off; Gamzee couldn't see from his position. He flashed Jade a toothy smile and wandered over to his friend, reclaiming his violet couch.

Tavros looked up from his Poe, a slightly dazed expression on his face. "Well? Did you get her address?"

"Address? No. I know where she lives, though. In some big white house in Northern Brooklyn. It's got a big spiderweb gate."

"But no address?"

"Calm down, I'm going with you. It's a few blocks outside of Little Poland, you're going to want me as a safe card."

"I want nothing to do with anything related to Little Poland."

"_Relax_, Tavros. You're _Italian_, they're not going to turn your lights off without a death wish. Your da's nearly as scary as mine, remember?"

"…Not even close."

"Fine, you're right, my da's _way _more horrifying. Who's turn was it to pay?"

* * *

**=== Why'd it just stop? Continue being someone!**

Care to give me a name?

**=== Sure, be Vriska.**

You are once again Miss Vriska.

**=== Wait, what the heck? Why couldn't I be her earlier?**

Because I said so. Just shut up and read, gosh.

Like I just _said, _you are now Miss Vriska. You're in the middle of an odd dream that you may not even remember when you wake up, though it could be crucial to your future. It is most likely a gibberish nightmare full of symbolism and other petty, useless crap.

* * *

Light. White. A pale room.

Mirrors, on every wall, watched. They watched and watched with their horrible little eyes, eyes that smiled and laughed in mockery. In hatred. Out of malicious desires and thoughts, they watched.

Vriska stood amongst the mirrors, in their center, their pit of hell. In a ratty, tattered, old dress, frayed at the bottom and immaculately clean. White as a cloud, a dove; as white as nothingness. Empty. Her golden locks were frizzy, tangled at both ends, and wild, feral like a lion. Her mane swamped her shoulders, cloaked her back, framed her face. And she could feel _it_, the buzzing, the rumble, the gnawing from inside. The fire, the want, the need. It welled and swelled in her core, her chest aching from its might.

The hunger.

Each mirror held a different Vriska, and each Vriska was wrong. Some wore gowns of splendor, other of poverty. Some bore masks of elegance, others of shame. But they were all Vriska. And they were all not Vriska.

Glass shattered at the impact of her fist, taking the first of the mirrors down. The glass cut her, red blood dribbling down her porcelain arms, finally giving color to her pale skin. Lush, crimson color. The mirror screamed. High-pitched and horrifying, it screamed.

They closed their circle around her, floating in their antique frames, eyes ever watchful. Her doppelg_ä_ngers wailed, ghastly and dissonant. Blood trickled out of her ears as their noise became white, like the room. They reached out to her, arms extending passed the glass, catching at her dress, her hair, her limbs. Shrieking.

More glass shattered as Vriska recoiled, countering the tugging, the ripping, the shaking. And they multiplied. With each mirror she broke, another two appeared. And they kept shrieking.

Shrieking.

Shrieking.

_Shrieking_.

* * *

Vriska woke up in a cold sweat, yelling as loud as her lungs would let her. She could barely understand why, only remembering the white. The nothingness. She felt cold, so cold. She was shaking, maybe shivering from the heat her body was failing to retain.

Her door flew open with a force great enough to dent the wall as Aradia rushed in, looking almost as shaken as Vriska. Her face was pale, as if she'd seen a ghost. "What's wrong? Are you all right?"

She opened her mouth to explain the dream but instead found tears pooling in her eyes. "I don't know."

"Did you have a bad dream?"

She nodded, feeling the sobs building in her chest. Well hell, she hated looking so pathetic. But that…that…oh god she couldn't even _think_ about it without growing uneasy.

Aradia wrapped her arms around the girl, rocking her gently as the dam broke and emotions poured out like a waterfall. It had felt so real, so inescapable, so life-threatening. She felt numb, distant.

"I-I'm sorry," she hiccupped. "This hasn't h-happened in years."

"Shhh, it's okay. I know, I remember the last time."

"Y-you _do_?"

"Yes, I do. You were nine, I was still a scullery maid at the time. It was about some rainbow monsters chasing you."

Vriska allowed herself a small chuckle. "And they all had a strange number of legs. They were led by a man in a black suit and no face."

"And you cried and cried until your mother came in."

"I do recall this. It was one of the few times she acted like a mother, not a drill sergeant."

"I've always wondered what she did to calm you down. As a kid I assumed she threatened you with chores or something."

"No, she…" Vriska's voice trailed off. "She sang to me."

"The master of pain _sang_ to you?" Vriska gave Aradia a look that caused her to dissolve into stuttering and word-fumbling. "Sorry, she's, uh, k-kinda, you know, _scary_, and we, erm, we've got…"

"The staff has nicknames for my mother, got it."

"Sorry."

"The Bellicose Baroness is my personal favorite." Vriska gave the maid a small smile. She had her silly monikers as well. Her mother's sobriquet may be "The Marquise" but around the house she had a variety of other…_colorful_ titles.

"What did she sing to you?"

Vriska felt heat pool in her cheeks. She mumbled.

"What?"

"_What Shall We do with A Drunken Sailor_. It's a sea-shanty. I-I used to be fond of nautical things." She used to run around the manor house with an eye patch and a knitted cap, in which she arranged a chromatic bundle of feathers. In her early teens the cap became a proper tricorne and she added a billowing black overcoat with an assortment of useless buttons and buckles. In truth, she still had a fascination with things of a nautical nature.

"Wasn't your mother…a…"

"Pirate?" Vriska laughed, her fears forgotten. "Of sorts, yes. So was my gram. Now, Gram, _she_ was a proper pirate. She raided Imperial ships and ransacked villages for riches. Real kicker of an old bag. No one knows what happened to her. My mum thinks she's still out there, living on some ship, ordering around a crew with the same venom she had as a young wench."

"And you?"

"I've no idea, to be honest. I met her when I was small, haven't seen her in years. I could have sworn I caught a glimpse of her on my way across the pond years ago, but…"

Aradia shrugged. "Who knows?"

"Who indeed."

The room slipped into silence as Vriska stared down at her hands, reviewing everything she knew about her Gram. Aradia sat quietly on the bed beside her. She broke the stillness after a few minutes. "If you want to get out of bed, I've got something to show you."

"What is it?"

"A secret." Aradia winked.

The younger girl helped her mistress out of bed, waiting patiently as she changed into more appropriate clothing_—_as she would no doubt be attending work in a few hours, her mind more stable than it had been earlier in the day. Slipping into a simple dress, Vriska followed Aradia to the parlor barefoot, not wishing to deal with heels.

She almost walked right back out of the room.

Sitting in one of the dark red leather chairs was the boy she crashed into earlier. Hovering over him was a nightmare coming; the Irish boy.

"Erm, hello. I think I found something you lost."

* * *

**A/N: **First I should probably apologize for all the weird skipping around.  
Sorry guys.  
And thank you EVERYONE who has reviewed this! I'm in throes of ecstasy. Hell, thanks for just reading!

Some things to review: Gamzee's Irish name is sort of symbolic. Because I'm a symbolism-whore. The first half, Gam, means story in Gaelic. The second, dhá, is two. The last name, O'Meadhra, comes from the word for 'merry'. You'll see how this all comes into play. I can't plan things but I sure as hell can make them symbolic.  
I love backstory. These characters are going to flesh out because of it. So just sit tight and watch for it. Promise.  
The chapter titles are all plays on books or movies. This one is especially meaningful, if you can figure it out.

As always, don't be afraid to point out any spelling or grammar mistakes!  
Which you guys are awful at cause I constantly read through and catch them.

* * *

**Responding:**

**To my dear darling Guests:**  
I'm glad you like it! The plot's fun to write, not going to lie.

**Talia:**  
Aww thank you so much! Yeah the skipping around is distinctly Homestuck. Not to mention it's disorienting. Heck, sometimes I get lost.


	4. A Blossom of Hope Grows in Brooklyn

**=== Continue being Vriska before I _punch you_.**

Fine, fine, sheesh.

You continue being Miss Vriska.

* * *

Vriska couldn't speak. Her mouth hung open, but no words came out. There were no words she could think of that would be appropriate for this situation. "Thank you" seemed too tame and too un-Vriska. Instead, she stood there, nearly motionless.

"Told you," the boy muttered to his extremely dangerous companion and stood, moving so he was in front of Vriska. "I'm really sorry I knocked into you earlier. You dropped something and I wanted to make sure it found its way back to you. Sorry for intruding."

He uncurled his right hand and there, sitting undamaged in his palm, was her blue die. It shone in the late sunlight, glinting like a magnificent prism.

She looked from him to the die and back, eyes wide as saucers.

Aradia coughed.

"Thank you…"

"Tavros."

"Thank you, Tavros." He handed the gem back to her, overly careful with her precious possession.

"It was no trouble," the boy said with a smile. His eyes betrayed his face. Clearly there had been a lot of trouble to bring this to her. Why, though? The Irish boy was in no danger here; the Irish and the Poles had an alliance, he was relatively safe in Brooklyn.

But his friend, on the other hand…

His complexion was noticeably darker than his companion; tan, hair was a mix of coffee and russet, eyes were a bronze-green, not tall but not short. The Irish boy was taller, no contest, but Tavros stood a good five or six inches over Vriska.

Could be Greek. Could be…_Italian_.

She was _so_ dead.

"Would anyone care for tea?" Aradia asked, breaking the awkward silence.

"I could drink a kettle. Let me help you," the Irish boy offered and followed her out of the room.

"It was my fault, actually. I wasn't paying attention."

"It's fine, no harm done." He flashed a bright white smile.

_Harm was certainly done to my mental state_, Vriska thought. "Why'd you bring it back?"

"Pardon?"

"It's worth a fortune, you could have easily sold it. Why did you return it?"

He frowned. "It was the right thing to do. I'd never get over the guilt if I sold it."

Guilt? People still had that? "Thank you for not selling it, then. There must be some way for me to reward you." It was the least she could do. Besides, her karma needed a boost.

"What? No, that's hardly necessary—"

"It is completely necessary. What do you want?"

"N-nothing. I'm, I'm fine. Really."

"Nonsense."

"I don't…hold on, what time is it?"

"Quarter past four."

"_SHIT!_" Tavros jumped up. "Oh god, pardon my French. I have to run, I'm very, _very_ late for something."

"Come back tomorrow around three with your answer?"

"If I'm still alive. It was a pleasure to meet you."

"You too."

And with that, the boy fled from the room, calling for his friend somewhere down the hall. They vanished, quietly as they had arrived.

Aradia returned after the front door closed, a teapot balanced on a silver platter. "That was abrupt. Did you frighten the poor boy?"

"No." Vriska leaned back, rubbing her temples. "For once it wasn't my fault. He said he was late and took off."

* * *

**== Oh lord. Go follow Tavros, I want to make sure he doesn't _die_.**

As you wish.

You are once again Mister Tavros. You just caught a cab and crossed the Williamsburg Bridge, then booked it too many blocks to Little Italy. You hate everything right now. Especially transport. And walking. And anything related to New York City's sheer size. It was too big. This was stupid.

* * *

_Why is there no cable car across the Williamsburg Bridge? _Tavros was out of breath the minute he hit Grand Street, having gotten out to walk at Bowery and Kenmare. Gamzee, who had blocks to go, decided he didn't fancy walking home and instead took the cab up to Midtown West. Plus it wasn't safe for him to get too close to Little Italy.

Completely exhausted and in need of some water, Tavros entered the tall old townhouse that served as the headquarters of the Nitram family. "Have you seen my father?" he asked one of the men scurrying around on the inside.

"He's in his study."

"_Grazie_."

The Don sat behind his desk, a decanter of scotch to his right, papers to the left. A cigar stuck out of his mouth. He looked up as Tavros walked in, nervous and afraid of what would happen. The Don wore a frown of disappointment.

Oh no, no. He couldn't deal with that face. He crumbled under guilt. "Hello, Papa."

"Where were you today, Poco?"

"I was…I had an emergency."

"What kind of emergency? You're not bleeding, are you?"

"No, no I'm not bleeding. I…you're going to laugh, Papa."

"I'm not laughing, Poco. You had better have a damn good reason for missing the ceremony this afternoon."

"Do you know of the Marquise of Bath, Miss Mindfang, Papa?"

"Of course. That awful woman has been hunting me down for ages. What of her?"

"I had a run-in with her daughter and pulled a few strings to avoid an all-out war. I'm sorry for missing the ceremony, but it was for a decent reason."

"What do you mean by a run-in?"

"I bumped into her on the street and she dropped something."

"Did she recognize you?"

"She didn't let on that she did, but she definitely knew _something_."

The Don sighed loudly and took a long drag on his cigar. "Poco—"

"I didn't want anything to get out of control. Sorry, Papa."

"You did the correct thing, angering the Marquise is at the bottom of my priority list."

"I know, Papa."

"I have to punish you for missing the ceremony, however. It _was_ important."

"What exactly was it, Papa?"

"You'll learn soon enough. Now come, let's take a walk."

The Don rose and glided out the door of his study, quieter than a fox's footfalls in the snow. He was a tall man, more than half a foot taller than his son. It was a wonder how he passed through doorways without ever smacking his head on the frames. Tavros was confident at this point of his life he would never stand above his father. The Don was half northern Italian, his mother being from Trieste. Tavros was half northern as well, his Piemonte-born mother of French and Italian descent. She was beautiful, fair, and of average height while her son was tall, dark, and handsome; a miniature version of his father. Guess he got the short stick.

Tavros followed The Don out and down the stairs, exiting to the street. The autumn air was crisp and delicate in the early evening, still warm enough to disregard an outer jacket, but chilly enough to give more than subtle hints to the coming snows. It could, however, snow any one of these coming days, the air was heavy with the possibility. After all, New York was one place where all four seasons could be experienced in a single day. It made dressing for the weather extremely difficult some mornings.

"Where are we walking?"

"Nowhere special, just making a loop around the block."

"Oh. Okay."

"I want to discuss with you the dangers of that girl, Poco."

"Why are you concerned about—"

"The way you spoke of the incident. You were cautious about your wording, making light of the dark situation. You certainly lied about some facts, or rather, did not tell the whole truth. You're trying to hide your curiosity from me. You find her interesting, Poco."

Tavros instantly flustered. "Well, no, I, erm…Don't be absurd! I just, well, she's a bit…I can't really…"

"Save your fumbling, you're only proving my deduction. I don't blame you for it. I once had a similar interest in her mother."

"You _did?_"

"Oh yes. Years and years ago, before I met your mother. Before I left Italy. The Marquise was something of an ocean-wide terror. Anyone crossing the Atlantic feared Marquise Mindfang. Always challenging governments with her high-tech playtoys. Stole a warship once, a year or so before the Great War. Great big iron battleship, fresh from the British fleet. Came into contact with that monstrosity more times than I should have in my short time spent on the high seas."

"And Vriska is _her_ daughter?" This…he couldn't make the connection. Vriska had seemed pleasant and kind. Perhaps even sweet. She'd flashed him a large, warm smile at one point. A genuinely happy smile. Pirates didn't have nice children. The world didn't work like that.

"Is that the little demon's name?"

"She's not a _demon_, Papa."…Crap. He _was_ defending her. Not good, not good. "Yes. Her name's Vriska. Miss Vriska Serket."

"Serket? Didn't take her mother's last name. Maybe as protection. Why do you say she's not a demon? The family is notorious for being inconceivably cruel."

"She was…nice? Wanted to thank me?"

"Plotting a trap, then."

"But, Papa, she didn't know who I was."

"…You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Positive?"

"Positive like a magnet."

"…That was terrible."

"Sorry."

"How did she thank you?"

"She asked me what I wanted."

"Well, what did you want?"

"I wasn't sure so she told me to come back tomorrow with an answer."

The Don stopped in his tracks. They had looped around the neighborhood, once again in front of their building. "You're a genius, Poco. We're going to take advantage of this favor. Find me in a few hours, I'm going to think." He vanished inside.

Tavros sat on the stoop as soon as the door closed. Thoughts were rushing through his head faster than racehorses on the track. Blue eyes, red lips, curling yellow hair. Primary colors. Each image would make her eyelids darker and heavier, her lips redder and more seductive, her hair more flowing and graceful. Sometimes he accompanied her in the mental pictures. Sometimes their fingers were tangled; sometimes it was their legs. At least twice her golden hair was sprawled out across a pillow. His hands were wrapped in it more than once. His lips found her more times than he'd like to count.

What was this madness?

* * *

You can no longer follow Tavros, as he's having a bit of a flushed breakdown.

**=== See what Vriska's up to. Is she having similar feelings?**

You are now Miss Vriska, who is _finally_ at work.

And no. She's not.

* * *

"I have no idea what I was _thinking!_ I was _nice!_ Miss K, when was the last time you saw me acting decently towards another human being?"

"Well—"

"You and my staff don't count."

Miss K closed her mouth.

The two girls were sitting at Avenue Five's bar, a bottle of wine on the counter between them. It was a glossy, white granite surface with a black brim that curled around the entire bar. Behind the counter was a horde of unlabeled liquor bottles of all colors. Each color represented a different type of drink, numbers on the shelves signifying the strength, age, and make of the alcohol. The Marquise was a stickler for class, smuggling drinks from Europe whenever she turned up.

"But if I'm not nice, I'm toast."

Miss K pursed her lips. "I'm not so sure."

Vriska raised an eyebrow.

"See, you frequently misjudge people based on their lineage and appearance. Remember your first impression of me?"

"I think you're still fussy and annoying."

"But you also thought me more docile and softer-spoken than I actually am, correct?"

"…Yes."

"I don't think you're giving this boy enough credit. I have a notion that he will not in fact babble to his father about your possible future mistreatment of him. You've never been good at assessing who people are based on first impressions."

"And I take it you're an expert?"

Miss K smiled. "I have a talent for it."

"You also have a talent for nosing into other people's business."

"It has become a sort of pastime, yes."

"It's like you're my mother."

"As I recall, you've three mothers. Your actual mother, your maid, and me."

"…Pretty much."

"Vriska, darling, I believe we need to take care of that situation later. I would care to turn your attention back towards the promise you made this afternoon."

"What? About rewarding him?"

"No, about agreeing to shut up and give me all your money."

Vriska shot her a look. "I need to teach you sarcasm. Fine, we're back to the original topic, what did you want to add?"

"I would like to point out that he is the son of a Don, correct?"

"Yeah, and?"

"Describe him to me."

"He's…" Vriska propped herself up with an arm and slouched over the counter. "Tallish, but not super tall. Tan, hazel eyes, dark hair, looks kind of average Italian."

"That is extremely generic."

"Hey, you asked."

"How did he dress?"

"…_Well? _I don't know, that's not something I pay close attention to."

"Rats. Anything…_distinct_ about him?"

"His eyes were a weird bronze-green hazel? He wore a fedora with brown peacock feather, he was with an Irish kid, he seemed a bit nervous, was far too nice—"

"Hold on. Peacock feather?"

"It was bronze. Really odd."

"Vriska, I believe your chore for your mother just became slightly easier."

"What? Why?"

"That is The Summoner's son, Tavros Nitram."

Vriska stared at Miss K and threw her hands up. "Of course she knows this because of something _fashion_ related. _Of course._"

"They're not common, so yes, I've met the boy before. Are you sure he was with an Irish boy?"

"Yes. Why?"

"The Italians and the Irish have—"

"A feud going, I know. Aradia said the same thing."

"Then why would—"

"There are always rule breakers." Something clicked in Vriska's mind. _That's_ why he had looked so nervous! The Irish were fine in her territory but the Italians were hunted. The Makara boy was his protection as well as his danger. What a sticky situation. They could turn on each other with the flip of a coin. His best friend was his worst nightmare.

"That _bites_," Vriska thought aloud, not paying attention to something Miss K was saying. "His best friend might kill him one day. Or he may have to kill his best friend."

"How…did you come to that conclusion?"

"Irish. Italian. You're not going to risk a mediocre friendship with such an awful rivalry, it's not worth it. They'd have to be close since childhood when they were still innocent and the idea of hating the other hadn't reached their minds yet."

"But they're willing to risk being together in public?"

"Not within their own territories, I'm sure. But outside…they both showed up at my doorstep. They had to cross Polish territory. The Irish boy must be rather frightening if the Poles weren't going to say anything about it to their leader."

"The most feared Irish Boss is the Grand Duke. He's known to be capricious."

"And the Polish would be worried he'd either reward them or kill them for the news! Kanaya, this is _genius!_" Vriska's face expressed a mixture of glee and mischief, her grin both wild and excited. So excited, she had accidentally uttered Miss K's first name.

"Oh gosh, I'm sorry, I had a moment of—"

"It's fine, we are alone. If we were in company, I might have had to kill you." Vriska couldn't tell if she was serious or making a joke.

"I had a lapse in judgment."

"I know. I need a new alias, anyway. This one is far too close to my actual name." Kanaya gave a small sigh and reached for the wine bottle, carefully uncorking it and pouring herself a small glass of white wine.

"We haven't opened yet."

"It is five o'clock somewhere."

"It's past five here."

"Precisely."

As Kanaya lifted the glass to her delicately painted mouth, there was a rap on the door. Both girls froze.

Avenue Five was located through a series of bizarre alleys, a belowground passageway, two trap doors, a room that required a password, three steel-framed doors, and the right set of friends. Vriska had made sure her establishment was impossible to pin on a map. Impossible.

The door swung open onto a face she knew too well.

* * *

**=== Be the intruder.**

Your name is Eridan Ampora, and you mean business. You run the rivaling speakeasy, The Fallen Angel. Your father entrusts it to you when he goes overseas for business, which is frequently. He works for the Portuguese mob, to which your best friend Feferi belongs. She's sweet as frosting, but her mother is something of a terror. So is your father, in fact. Just the mention of his name causes knees to quake. You like having power from association with your old man. You are first generation German-American, though you're not too fond of the hyphen. Everyone seems to be doing it nowadays. You'd like to just pick one, but you've got a terrible time choosing. Being German, you're pretty pale, tall, and have coppery-auburn hair. Your eyes always look like they're this weird violet and you're not even sure that's possible. You _think_ it has something to do with the fact they're such a light gray they look violet in very specific circumstances—wait that doesn't explain the situation at all, they're violetish _all _the time. Your head hurts pondering this topic. Ugh, your thoughts are rambling again. They always do this. At least they haven't breached the subject of wizards yet. You can never stop when that happ—DAMMIT! NO, YOU'VE GOT BUSINESS TO ATTEND. STOP THIS USELESS BLETHER, ERIDAN!

* * *

"Vriska." Eridan leaned on the doorframe, staring down at the lady of the house and her short-haired companion. "We need to talk."

Serket crossed her arms and glared back. "Why?"

"We've got a bit of a problem."

"We? The two of us haven't been a 'we' in years."

"Don't bring that up, 'We' as in everyone ownin' a bar on the block, not 'we' as in the two'a us exclusively."

"What does he mean?" the Marchioness' companion asked.

"Nothing, it's not important."

"It _was_ at one time," Eridan pointed out.

"Hush. Get in, close the door, say what you've come here to say, and leave. Got it?"

"Yes, mother," Eridan said with a sneer and took a seat at the bar next to the bitchier of the two women. "Ya know how all the mobs have a problem with one another?"

"No, I've been fully unaware of it my whole life, running a speako and all. I've had _no clue_," she spit.

"Cut the sarcasm, I'm doing you a _favor_."

Vriska _hmphed_ and crossed her legs.

"Thank you. Now, Which family frequents your place?"

"The Russians. Yours?"

"Portuguese."

"You're safe, you've got the _Condesce_ watching your back!"

"Not necessarily. That woman can only do so much." Eridan felt physical pain admitting to this. He felt weak, especially knowing that the feared Portuguese mob could do nothing to protect either him or itself from the looming threat.

"Then what is it you're fretting about?"

"The Irish. Word's out that The Grand Duke is _very_ angry."

"And?"

"He's the head'a the _Irish_ mob. Do you understand the severity of the situation? _The Fighting Irish_. The Portuguese have the Irish do their dirty work half the time 'cause the lot'a them are so _violent_."

"Why is he so upset?"

"I have no idea. Do you remember the last time this happened?"

"No."

"Well I do. My father had me sent upstate to stay with relatives. The Duke was after the blood'a all the kids associated with any and all organized crime families. The streets ran red. Why do ya think there are so few mob kids our age?"

"Because he killed them all." Vriska rubbed her temples. "Of course. No, I do remember. I was holed up in the basement for a week. Mumsie wouldn't let anyone in or out of the house. What was even the problem that time?"

"One'a his sons came home with a broken nose from another boss' kid. By _accident_."

"Jiminy Christmas."

"I _told_ you it was a big issue. I don't think it's safe on the streets tonight, or in the bar. I'm not opening tonight. I advise you do the same."

Eridan got up to leave.

"Wait."

"What?"

"Why are you being so nice to me?"

Eridan stood motionless for a moment before laughing. "Gotta keep you safe, ya know? If you go down I've got no competition, and I must say I'm enjoyin' our…_friendly_ rivalry." He smirked and pushed his glasses up his nose. "That, and I'm certain I owe you one."

"…Stay a minute, will you? Some wine for your troubles?"

"I'll accept the invitation to stay, but not the wine, sorry, I don't know if you've drugged it or not."

"Then I would have drugged Miss K as well."

"Still, I need a clear mind tonight," he said and sat back down.

"I need your opinion on something. I seem to find myself in debt to the son of The Summoner."

Eridan's eyebrows scrunched together. Oh _boy_. That was….not good. He hadn't met the boy personally, but knew of the father. "What happened?"

"I lost something, he brought it back, I owe him."

"Well…" He needed a minute to think. The wine was starting to look more appealing. "What do you owe him?"

"I'm not sure. Whatever he wants."

"So you've let him off the leash to go tell his father you owe him."

"…Kinda?"

_"Vriska."_

"It was stupid, I know! I've already gotten a stern talking to from both my maid and Miss K, I don't need a third one from you."

Eridan closed his mouth. He wasn't completely sure of how to handle this situation. He knew The Summoner was a crafty, crafty man, and would most likely have a plan formed in a matter of hours. Miss Serket, in short, was doomed. The two families had a feud of their own that would no doubt consume the children in due time. He could think of a few ways in which to corner the coming events, but none the girl would be keen or happy about.

"Also, my mother wants me to gather information on the kid's dad."

Whoops, there went all his ideas. "You are in one awful mess."

"It's worse than awful; I'm going to _you_ for help."

Eridan frowned.

"That's not what I meant. I mean, it's more like I'm going to a rival instead of an ally."

"This is just a horrible day for you, isn't it?"

Vriska nodded.

"Well…I'll see what I can do. For the sake'a our rivalry."

"…Thank you."

"Consider yourself in my debt. I'll phone you when I have an answer to either problem."

"Okay."

"Get home safely."

"You too."

And with that, Eridan exited the bar. He had a lot to do now, in terms of everything. First thing on his list of priorities: make sure Feferi was safe. He'd go bananas if he let anything happen to her. Then her mother would go bananas. And _then_ he'd be hanging from the gallows, or somewhere worse. Her safety was the most important thing at the moment.

Oh, if only she knew all the strings he pulled for her, all the things he did, all the _problems_ he'd wrapped himself into too tightly. All for her. Maybe then she'd look at him differently. The temptation to tell her was overwhelming more than half the time.

But that wasn't his top concern.

Well, it wasn't supposed to be, anyway. But it was. It always was.

He didn't reach his car halfway down the block before Kanaya caught up to him.

"We need to talk, too," she said softly, hovering on his right like a ghost. She could be so eerily quiet.

"About what?"

"You know exactly what we need to discuss."

"Not _that_ again."

She glared daggers at him, her jade eyes boring holes through his soul.

"Fine. You're right. Come for a drive with me."

* * *

**A/N: **To apologize for the delay, here is a long, cliffhanger-y chapter.

Bit of a reverse on feelings for now. But only for now (for now).

Kanaya seems to have more irons in the fire than Vriska, if that's even possible. Oh the _irony._

As always, check my spelling and grammar and let me know if you see any mistakes!

* * *

**To my Anon Critic on this chapter:**  
Blether and blather mean the same, but 'blether' is the more common spelling in the northern areas of the UK. I suspect I've picked the spelling up from reading over the years.  
Thank you for the other tip, though. Poor English on my part. I do that_ constantly_, I apologize. All fixed now!


	5. The Woman in Green

You can no longer follow Eridan.

**=== Be Kanaya.**

What? No.

**=== Fine, then be the grumpy one.**

* * *

Your name is Karkat Vantas, but if your mother were trying to get your attention, she'd probably summon you with your Polish name, Kondrat Wyrick. Your mother is something of a draconian woman, being the head of the family and all. Her husband—your father—is much more domestic, and much less Polish. You've inherited your mother's bitchiness and you _think_ your father's looks, but you can't really tell, seeing you're pretty sure that you are…well…you've got platinum, almost-white blonde hair and red eyes. Yes, red. Your irises are such a faint color that your blood is literally their presented pigment. There are two explanations for this, and you're leaning away from the 'alien experiment' idea because it's absurd and childish. The other one…you don't want to talk about it, why the fuck did it even come up? Shut up. You hate dealing with stupidity, especially the fucking idiotic kind. No more questions!

Besides, you're scared out of your skin at the moment. There's a goddamn monster clown on the fucking loose, and you're swearing and sweating up a shitstorm over here. Holy Jesus this was an awful time if there ever was one.

* * *

Karkat had been interrupted by the phone during dinner. He had been grumpy about it, of course, and his mother had scowled. He was worried one day her face would freeze in that unpleasant shape, as she frowned more times a day than he had fingers. He had taken it anyway. The servant who announced it looked more afraid than normal—they all looked scared out of their wits when bringing bad news to the mistress of the house.

It was one of Gamzee's siblings—his little sister—and she was in a panic. The heir of the Makara family had disappeared. His gun was gone as well, which pointed to the unpleasant direction that neither Karkat nor the rest of the Makara family wanted to deal with at this hour of night. The great idiot had slipped into one of his fits. Only Karkat and Aisling—the nine-year-old sister in question—could calm him down. She usually handled the matter before it escalated, but something had gone wrong. It was too dangerous for her at this stage.

Karkat reluctantly holstered his own revolver and ordered his driver to Midtown Manhattan, where his high-maintenance best friend had last been seen. It was tedious, Brooklyn to midtown, and he could miss Gamzee's erratic wandering by a hair. It was all a guessing game, a morbid roulette of chance. He'd need backup.

* * *

Karkat sat—no, _crouched—_against a high brick wall, knees pulled in close to his chest. He was doing the opposite of bluffing: shrinking. Making himself appear six times smaller than he actually was. He wasn't sure if it was working, but he'd be damned if he didn't at least attempt to not die tonight.

It had gone wrong. It had gone all wrong.

This was the worst he'd seen his friend in months, perhaps a year. There was a string of dead cats on a clothesline a block back, smiley faces carved into bricks and cement, and a trail of unlit cigarettes.

He'd tracked the maddened Gamzee to an alley of run-down buildings. Gamzee was in one of them, not sure which, and he could hear the maniacal laughed from where he hugged the wall for dear life. Oh god oh god oh god—

Someone vaulted over the wall and landed beside the hideously terrified boy. Karkat tried his absolute best to not shriek in horror when Kanaya scooted next to him, adopting a near-identical pose. She looked equally as panicked, but it was a different sort of panic. Karkat was in a 'I could die the next moment holy god in the blue sky above don't let that happen please dear lord I will go to church every goddamn Sunday until I drop dead at a ripe old age if I just don't die oh good Jesus please god no' type of panic. Kanaya was in a more worried state.

"Thanks for coming, things got out of hand."

"It is no problem. I think I know where he is," she said in an alarmingly hushed tone.

"Really?"

"No, pulling your leg."

Karkat cast her a ferocious glare and, to his surprise, she smirked.

"Sarcasm. Yes, I am nearly one-hundred percent positive I know where he is hiding." She looked shaken in spite of her awful joke.

"…He's close, isn't he?"

"So very close."

"Dammit. We're going to die, aren't we?"

Kanaya shook her head very slightly. "No, no I don't think so."

"So someone else is going to die?"

"I hope not. Besides, he hasn't moved in a half hour. I think we're safe for a while. Eridan made rounds and convinced everyone The Grand Duke was out for blood. No one in their right mind will step outside tonight."

_Look at our group_, Karkat thought, _no one is in their right mind._ "Did you tell him to do that?"

"I did indeed, yes."

"Good thinking. Now the crazy one'll be after _our_ hides."

"It is significantly less likely he will harm us. You are his best friend, after all."

"And you? You can't stand him."

"We have an…estranged relationship."

"I think you mean 'strained.'"

"If I couldn't cut the tension with a knife, I would laugh."

Karkat gave her a weak smile. "I appreciate it."

"Regardless, I managed to speak to both Eridan and Aradia today."

"Making progress?"

"I hope so. I am not fully certain, but I wager it is a yes."

"I'll get to Terezi at…some point soon. That is, if I'm not killed tonight."

Kanaya raised an eyebrow. "What happened to this afternoon?"

"I—I…well…things got a bit…awkward."

"You cancelled on her."

"I did not—well, erm, yes, I might have done that."

Kanaya sighed. She was disappointed. _Now_ Karkat felt horrible. He could never do anything right when it came to Terezi, and it ruined Kanaya. _Ruined _her. She worked so hard to help him and he did nothing but chuck her advice down every drain known to man. Stupid fucking Karkat. He chucked, past tense. He will chuck, future tense. No matter the time, Past, Present, and Future Karkat disappointed Kanaya.

"Look, Kanaya, I'm sorry. I really am. I don't mean to do it, you know that. I just—"

"Chicken out. Every time."

"…Exactly."

"Karkat, Terezi deserves more than your mixed signals. You are toying with a young lady's heart. It's not proper."

"Proper? Who are you, my mother?"

"In a way, I feel as though I am everyone's mother at one time or another."

"That's…tough."

"You have no idea, Karkat. You have no idea. Now, back to Terezi. You need to figure out what you want from her, with her, and make a clear, concise decision. She likes you as more than a friend. The question is, do you?"

"How do you know—"

"One, I was sober last night. Two, I. Am. Everyone's. Mother." She hissed each word.

"But it just—"

"It has been going on for a long, _long_ while, Karkat, whether you have been aware of it or not. I myself have noticed for a few weeks, in the absolute least."

He didn't have a response. He was pretty sure she was right; Karkat had been stepping around the feelings that Terezi and he shared collectively. Or non-collectively. He had an idea that she didn't find him nearly as interesting as he found her, which was a substantial amount interesting. It'd be another hopeless case by the time he sabotaged it, nearly as depressing as the one between him and the other green-eyed girl with whom he was moderately friendly.

"…Does she think that poorly of me?"

"_Pardon?_ Karkat, no. Stop this self-pity; she thinks you're brilliant. You have the marks to prove it."

Karkat snapped his hands to his neck and tried to shoot bullets at Kanaya with his eyes. "I. Was. Drunk."

"Yes, but _she_ wasn't. She does not partake in drinking, remember?"

_Shit_. That's right. Terezi didn't drink. Well _damn_. She'd played him well last night. If things weren't so awkward, he'd congratulate her. Alcohol loosens more than just tongues.

"So…she did this without a little tipsy faerie telling her what to do," he said absentmindedly, a finger sliding along the angry red love bite that covered the majority of his neck. "Then, hope isn't lost?"

"It has _never_ been lost, you silly, stupid boy. You think so little of yourself that you barely notice how much people admire you. You are a fantastic leader, before you bring that up to deny."

"Yes, but Terezi isn't 'people', she's more important. She's like a bunch of people. Or matters as much as a bunch of people."

Kanaya gave him a genuine, warm smile. "I think you know the answers to my previous questions. You care for her quite a lot, do you not?"

Karkat felt his cheeks grow hot and he buried his ever-reddening face in his knees, grinning to himself. "Something like that."

"So you—" Kanaya stopped short of her sentence, her expression morphing into a look of absolute horror. Karkat was about to ask what was wrong when the giggling echoed down the street and he knew _exactly_ what had caused her sudden petrifaction.

"Down the alley, is he?"

"He is."

"Do we run for it?"

"He is _your_ best friend. The Grand Duke sent _you_ to go retrieve his blood-lusting, carnage-loving, cantankerous, two-faced _son_. You tell me!"

"You really hate him, don't you."

"As I stated before, it is a rather complicated matter that we _do not have time to discuss right this very instant_."

"Right, sorry, I think we run."

The pair bolted up and flew down the cobbled street faster than if they were being chased by a pack of emaciated cheetahs. One after the other, they collided with a broad, surprisingly muscled chest and stumbled backwards. Oh god, they had gone in the _wrong_ direction.

How do you even _do_ that?

Karkat looked up in horror to see a shock of flaming red hair and violet eyes that glistened with madness in the paling light. A dangerously crooked smile rested on thin lips, displaying a number of too-sharp teeth. Lunacy seeped out of every exposed pore, eyes fixed in a terrifying leer. The moonlight gave the illusion that, standing before him, was a fiery, misty-eyed ghost.

"_Bonjour_, Karkat, Kanaya, _mis amis._" His voice was low, rumbling, a voice to run away from at high speeds. But they didn't moved, paralyzed by fear of the madman. "What brings you to…_mon bois?"_

_Since when does he speak French? How_ _does he speak French?_ Questions Karkat kept to himself as Gamzee sauntered over to where he and Kanaya were trying in vain to inch backwards. His movements were fluid and deliberate. It was unnerving.

"D—did you forget your tea this evening, Gamzee?"

"Might have. Might not have."

_Oh, that was reassuring_. "It's one or the other."

"Might tell you later, Karkar. I have some…_business_ to take care of first."

Karkat did not like that smile. Not one bit.

"Business—"

"Business with your ladyfriend, here," he said smoother than hot butter on warm toast.

Kanaya visibly stiffened as Gamzee approached her like the devious, cunning little fox he was without his special tea. Not once did he drop that coy, frightening grin. Not once did his heavy-lidded eyes lose their dreamlike quality.

Quicker than quicksilver, something went sensibly wrong.

As in, no sense was made to Karkat's brain, though the other parties involved seemed to understand the situation on a different, more complex level.

A pale Irish arm hooked around Kanaya's waist while the other grasped one of her hands, dipping her down. His tall frame hovered too close to be comfortable for either. To the casual observer, they could have been dancing.

In a dark abandoned alley. With no music.

It was, for lack of a better phrase, strangely intimate. And somewhat familiar to the two pseudo-dancers.

"You are going to let go of me on the count of three," Kanaya spit.

"And what if I don't, hmm?"

"Then I'll—"

"Then you'll what, my pet?"

"I will do so many things."

"Care to go into detail, love? You're leaving me hanging here." He slackened his grip on her a moment, letting her freefall for a sharp, adrenaline-loaded second. Kanaya screamed.

"You're a monster."

Gamzee let out a loud, blood-curdling laugh, booming and deep. "Ain't news there, my little rosebush. Known it for a while now, haven't you?" He pulled her up from the dip and far too close to his body for both Kanaya and Karkat's liking. A long, surprisingly gentle finger stroked one of her cheeks. "Yes, you've known it a good long time," he purred, "though it hasn't stopped you yet. Nope. Not one bit. I wonder, Kanaya, will it ever stop you? Hmm, sugarplum?"

Karkat, the casual unable-to-do-anything-about-this observer then witnessed something so peculiar, he would continue to second-guess his eyes and memory about the entire event for the rest of the night. With everything he knew, the following scene made no sense in any section of his brain or any vault in his mind. It simply didn't fit. Somewhere down the road, one had flown over the cuckoo's nest.

One second they looked like they were aiming to slit each other's throats. The next—

Well.

It was the oddest thing, really.

Karkat had the (dis)pleasure of observing one of the strangest kisses in the history of kissing. It was passionate, yes. It was deep, yes.

It was also out of fucking nowhere.

One moment, Kanaya was attempting to choke Gamzee, the next; her fingers were locked in his messy hair. One of his hands was slipping dangerously close to her—

Watching two of your close friends kiss, who hate each other with more ferocity than France and England, was…disturbing. On all levels.

Karkat felt a wave of queasiness roll over him, along with a slight twinge of understanding for anyone who had found Terezi and him doing a very similar thing last night. This was very unpleasant.

And it ended rather abruptly when Kanaya kneed Gamzee in the crotch.

"Now, now, we have to go, _now_," she ordered and took Karkat's wrist in a deathgrip, dragging him through the twisting maze of Midtown Manhattan.

"What the bloody fuck in a hamburger bun was _that?_"

"It was complicated, that's what!"

"I thought you hated him!"

"I do!"

"But you just _snogged_ him!"

"I did!"

"But I thought you liked girls!"

"I _do! _There are, however, always exceptions to rules."

"So you only swing that way for _him_?"

"No, not exactly. There is a fair amount of history that everyone, _everyone_, has been kept in the dark about."

"No fucking _kidding_."

"I am sorry for keeping it from you, Karkat, it's just—"

"It is completely fine, I could have gone my whole life and several reincarnations without ever fucking needing to know about or see _that_."

"I am really sorry. Honestly, I am."

"Jesus Christ on rye bread, Kanaya. You have a _lot_ of explaining to do."

"If we make out of this in one piece, I promise to tell you the whole thing."

"And if we make it back in pieces?"

"Then I guess I will inform you on our way to heaven."

"Heaven? We both know neither of us is going to heaven. Not with our pasts."

"Not with our presents, either."

"Or our assumed futures."

It was morbid, but they couldn't help but laugh.

* * *

You can no longer follow Karkat.

**=== Be Tavros.**

You are once again Tavros, and you are also scared out of your wits. You ducked out of the house after dinner to meet up with Gamzee, only to discover he went slightly insane in the short time you were apart…_again_. You're sort of looking for him now, but also sort of trying not to get mauled.

* * *

Tavros was practically tiptoeing through the streets in search of Gamzee. He'd bolted when the mad glint had surfaced in his friend's eyes. It had been over a week since the last attack, he had been doing so well. And now, oh god _now_ he was running loose in Midtown, no doubt bloodying something. Tavros couldn't calm him down, no, not easily, at least. It was a challenge, one he knew another of Gamzee's friends was in charge of.

Trashcans rattled on the other end of the street and Tavros flew against a wall, compressing his body to the bricks. _It could be anyone_, he thought, trying to reassure himself. It wasn't working. It worked even less when he saw the tall, lanky silhouette. He was limping. Christ, why was he limping?

"_Taavrooss."_

Why did he—how did he—

"Lend me a motherfuckin' hand, will ya?"

Tavros let out the breath he'd been holding. Ah. He was in that weird in-between state. Half bananas, half normal. He wouldn't _kill _Tavros now—maybe jostle him around—but he still wasn't in his right mind.

"Are you—what happ—why are you limping?"

"A girl."

"_A GIRL!?"_

"Yeah, a very crazy doll just kneed me in the family jewels."

"Oh." Major sigh of relief…then slight confusion. "Is that _lipstick?_"

"From said doll."

"That is the reddest lipstick I've _ever_ seen."

"Personally I'm surprised it's not a green."

"_Green?_"

"Ever heard of The Green Lady?"

"Of course, she's a rather notorious con artist. Single-handedly stole a collection of Persian silks."

Gamzee's smile got wider.

"What did—did you—did she—"

"I've run around the block with her."

Tavros wasn't sure if he could frown harder._ "Just now?"_

"Heck no, not just now. She's kneed me just now."

"Why'd she knee you?"

"'Cause I kissed her and she hates me."

Tavros cringed, his shoulders scrunching up to his neck. "What."

Gamzee sighed, his eyes only half as wild as they were a moment ago. "I think I need to come out of the closet about this."

"The, um, well-dressed closet?"

"What? Whoa, no. No. Not that closet. Different closet. The 'I've been sneakin' around for a few months' closet. Come take a walk with me, I want some flapjacks."

"It's almost ten o'clock."

"There's a good diner a few blocks up that's open till midnight. C'mon, my treat. I'm _famished._"

And with that, they walked the short way to the diner in silence. Gamzee's body was readjusting itself to his sober, uncrazed state, probably crying with every nerve ending for a fix. Sometimes Tavros admired his friend's willpower. He had been clean for the past few weeks with no incident. Obviously, he had flaws and couldn't stay sane forever, but the amount of time he stayed levelheaded was commendable. For Gamzee, anyway.

He was worried. He was always worried about the strange, fire-headed boy and his dual personalities, his two stories. He was comedy and tragedy. One face was laid back, calm, caring, and simple. It didn't have much of a temper or much of a care in the world. The other face was grim, mischievous, murderous, and according to tonight's events, lustful. It liked the slippery feel of blood on skin and wore smiles straight out of horror stories. Gamzee, the two-faced boy, never failed to surprise.

"I'm not sure where to start with this," Gamzee said as he slid into a booth.

"The beginning is always a good start," Tavros pointed out, flipping unnecessarily through a menu.

"But that's the thing. I don't know what the beginning is." He ran his hands through his hair. "Have you ever picked up a book that just threw you in the story? Like, no slowing down or anything, you just jumped right in? And it wasn't in the start of the _story_ story, just the novel. And like, who _does_ that, even? Who starts when the protagonist is born and all? No one. They start at some other point, and it's never the true beginning."

"Gamzee gets philosophical at 10:32, everyone."

"Hop off."

"Sorry, mate."

"It's just…nah, I think I know where I'll start. Remember about a year ago, when the transitions were really bad?"

Tavros nodded. He hadn't seen Gamzee for two straight weeks. The papers were smothered in his attacks, all nameless and not one was able to piece together what was going on. Tavros only knew because, over their fourteen-year friendship, he'd picked up the little margin errors that Gamzee made whilst in his frenzied state. They were only present if you were looking for them, and Tavros had kept a keen eye out since he was ten.

"Well, I _may_ have made her acquaintance during a rather…_vicious_ bout. She was making her way through a back alley like she was stepping through a flower patch. Odd, if nothing else. I of course, being more than a little fuzzy in the brain, tried to dispose of her."

"You tried to kill a random woman in a back alley?"

"It's happened more than once, you know I couldn't control it at all back then. But yes, I tried to pick off a random stranger on a dark street well passed bedtime."

"But you didn't."

"No, I didn't." He raked his fingers through his curly mop, stressed and confused. "She outwitted me. Had a knife to my throat faster than I thought possible for a doll. Real fox of a woman. A bit like wallpaper, doesn't stand out in a crowd. You'd never suspect the wallpaper. But of course it makes for a nice room, the right color and all." Gamzee seamlessly slipped the conversation across the line of intriguing and into the territory of boring as a waiter came to take their order. For someone who regularly spaced out, he was a genius at maintaining a façade of normality.

"She knew who I was, I knew who she was. We made a deal of sorts. I helped her with her cons, she kept me from making a bloody mess out of everyone I saw."

"Is the deal off now…?"

"It…it's complicated, Tavros. It's very fucking complicated."

Tavros decided not to push harder; Gamzee was swearing, he was still slightly tipped to the darker of his two natures.

"It's all jumbled and tangled and haywire," he continued. "She dislikes me, I dislike her."

"But you've fooled around with her…"

"A couple of times?"

"And you hate each other."

"It's more complex. That's like the surface layer. The skin of the onion, if you will. It's more like we're in…erm…" He spun his wrist around, trying to pinpoint the correct phrase he wanted to use. "We're in hate with one another."

"You're in hate with her."

"See, now that I say it out loud, it sounds ridiculous."

"It should have sounded ridiculous in your head."

"It did, really, to be honest." Gamzee sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I don't know what else to tell you. Well, no, that's a lie, there's a whole bunch I want to tell you, but none of it makes sense and I don't know where to begin. Also it's not much of a _public_ conversation, if you catch my mean."

"Ah."

They were quiet again until food came. Tavros had ordered a coffee, Gamzee, a staggering number of pancakes, which he proceeded to wolf down. He was too engrossed in his meal to notice the pair that hovered at the table.

One was a boy roughly his own age. He was slender and well-dressed, sporting a three-piece suit and matching tie darker than a moonless night. The frown he wore was aristocratic; it gave the impression of total superiority. Contempt positively dripped out of his crimson eyes.

Odd eye color. Tavros supposed it fit with his snow-white complexion and near-ivory hair.

The other was a girl. She was tall, only an inch or so shorter than her companion. She, too, was dressed in wealth, though was more colorful in a white-gold dress. Her dark brown hair was long, with large curls slinking down her back and rippling over her shoulders. A beauty if there ever was one.

"You changed," Gamzee muttered when the boy cleared his throat.

"Did you expect me to run around looking like a filthy street urchin?" the boy hissed, clearly annoyed.

"No, you're too vain for that," he retorted and turned to the girl. "I didn't expect _you _to adopt a whole new appearance, however."

"Can't be recognized, in public, now can I?" the girl replied with a smirk.

"Take a seat, the both of you."

"'Fraid we can't. I'm under time constraints to get you home before your father rips my head clean off."

"I'm eating."

"I can see that, and I don't particularly care."

"I'm with a friend."

"Don't care about that either. But," the posh boy turned to Tavros. "I _am _being rude. Mother would be disappointed. I know you're The Summoner's boy. We're enemies on principle, I suppose, though that has hardly stopped this imbecile."

"How do you know who I am?"

He smirked. "You're tan and quiet and your fedora has a bronze peacock feather. Not to mention you're sitting with this box of idiocy, and I know he's close with someone he should be nothing but bitter to."

"I'm sorry, who are you exactly?"

"I'm Polish. That should be enough of a clue."

_Oh. Karkat._ The Vantas boy. He was a notorious grouch with a volatile temper. His family was considerably wealthier than most, which wasn't expected, given his mother's low peerage. He was a childhood friend of Gamzee's and Tavros knew him to be the one in charge of his unstable friend. Gamzee always said he was a natural-born actor who missed his calling, being heir to strongest branch of the Polish mob.

But the girl. Who was she?

"You look good with long hair," Gamzee said quietly.

"Really? I do not like. I prefer my hair short."

"It's a nice wig, at least."

"Fine, there we can agree."

"Stop flirting," Karkat snapped, his patience wearing thin. "I need to get you home and her to the East Side. I. Am. On. The clock."

"Don't jumble the sheets, we can go." Gamzee stood, immediately towering over the two. He threw a bill on the table. "Sorry, mate, Business calls."

Tavros, speechless, watched as they left out the door, realizing whom the strange girl was. _That_ was The Green Lady. The Jade Dragon. One of the finest white-collar criminals in tri-state area. And she indeed was an impeccable dresser with the art of disguise down to a T. The way she carried herself reminded Tavros vaguely of Vriska.

His stomach flipped. Out of nerves about tomorrow or…something else entirely, he didn't know.

* * *

**A/N:** So before I get a slew of questions about _what the heck I just wrote,_ I might as well explain:  
Funny enough, no, I don't ship Gamzee and Kanaya. And no, they don't get to be a couple in the traditional sense. Or modern sense. It's an odd thing in-universe. Remember how Kanaya's sneaking around? It's linked to that, so sit tight.

**Also, question!: I'm considering writing up scenes that won't appear in this work (examples: Vriska's party, Kanaya's earlier heists, what happened between Karkat and Terezi, etc.). Is anybody interested in seeing this happen?**

Love you all, readers and reviewers alike (reviewers maybe a bit more, ahaha) and thank you for the encouragement and putting up with my meandering story lines!

(And if anyone's curious, Gamzee's sister's name is pronounced Ash-ling.)

* * *

**Anonymous/Guest Review Respond time!**

**yeeeeeee:**  
You have a silly name. It makes me smile. Thank you! I'm glad you love it! And I am going to get on that!...soon as the inspiration hits. It's a bit vague now, on this fine last day of August, but I think I know what I'll do...

**Tora:**  
I'm not sure when I'll get to them, be it during or after. I'm afraid I'll forget afterward. I'm a Seat-of-the-Pants Writer, and should certainly have a disclaimer about that somewhere. I write when it hits me, so it shouldn't slow anything down.

**Guest Aon, which is Gaelic for one:**  
Thank you and...  
YOU ARE THE FIRST PERSON TO WANT TO KNOW ABOUT KANAYA. COME HERE, GIVE ME A HUG. FOR YOU ANNONY, I WILL WRITE IT FOR YOU!

**Guest Dwy, which is Welsh and therefore Impossible to Pronounce:**  
Aww I'm glad! Trying to build up here, hope it's working!


	6. Of Boys and Men

**=== Be Kanaya. Please?**

Because you asked nicely.

Your name is Kanaya Maryam, or, at least, that's what you go by to your close friends. You don't remember if it's your original name or not since you've changed everything around so much. You spent the first half of childhood orphaned and alone. The other children didn't want to play with you partially because of your tendency to nick their stuff and partially because you were far more mature than the lot of them. You were eventually taken in by a sweet but stern woman who raised you to be a proper young lady. Sometimes you feel like you've failed her, what with the dark life you lead and the dark friends you keep. You shrug the feeling off most of the time, the other times you take to the gin. You don't know what race your biological parents were. Going by your hair, eye, and skin colors, you'd say either Southern or Eastern European. Your hair is dark and short, eyes jade and bright, skin pale and white. You _guess_ you'd be considered a flapper if it wasn't for your love of makeup and French clothes. You like French fabrics, sometimes you fancy yourself a young French girl, but like you explained before, you're not sure. You are an absolute master of disguise, and it comes in handy during your heists. No one knows what you truly look like. In fact, neither do you.

* * *

Kanaya stood outside an extremely familiar apartment, unsure if she should knock and alert the resident to her presence. It had been so long, she was not entirely sure if it was appropriate, or if she would be welcome inside. Was this even socially acceptable? Most likely not.

She knocked anyway.

There was a scramble of feet from inside, accompanied by a low, muffled conversation and the clattering of furniture. It took a few minutes for the owner of the flat to open the door.

"Kanaya?"

The girl before her was three or four inches shorter than she and had slightly longer and unusually messy blonde hair. She was in a skimpy, silky cream nightdress with a black lace fringe. The straps slid down her arms as she attempted to cover herself in a dressing gown.

Ooh, this was torturous. There was nothing like seeing your ex in something seriously lacking in the family-appropriate department. It burned. It burned _bad_.

"Rose. Sorry. Is now a bad time?"

"It is in no way a good time, per say, but you may come in," Rose said warily and pulled the door further open.

"Thank you, I must apologize for the hour. And the unexpected visit."

"It–it's fine. Really. Can I fix you some tea or coffee or a gin and tonic?"

Trust Rose to remember her favorite cocktail. It was both sweet and bitter at the same time. The remembering, that is, not the gin and tonic. That was just bitter.

"Tea, if that is all right with you. I will have to be sober when going home."

"If it wasn't all right I wouldn't have offered."

Kanaya stood awkwardly in the threshold as Rose navigated her tidy front room to the kitchen. Her apartment was spotless, just as it always was. It was also decorated with the same, modish, impossibly white furniture in the art deco style Rose loved so much. If this visit was not out of necessity and work-related matters, Kanaya would have excused herself. This nostalgia trip was more painful than she would have liked to admit.

"So, what brings you to my neck of the woods?" Rose stood in the doorway of her nicely sized kitchen, hands in her dressing gown pockets.

"Work-related matters. That is why I stopped by, in fact. I need to speak to you. Karkat—"

"You know Karkat?"

A man—no, no, a boy not a day passed twenty-one; he couldn't be older than Rose with those innocent blue eyes—emerged from her bedroom. He was cleaning his glasses on his nightshirt, hair ruffled nearly as much as Rose's—

Oh. She had interrupted something.

"Kanaya, this is John. John, Kanaya."

"Pleased to meet you," he said with a big grin. "It's always nice to see your friends, Rose. I've no idea why you don't have them over more often."

"Sorry I don't have them over all that often at a quarter to midnight." To an outsider, it would have sounded condescending and tense, but Kanaya knew better. Rose was teasing this John. They were close, as she had been.

"Hey, I'm just saying."

"And I'm just saying that the water's boiling," Rose said a second before the kettle began to whistle. Oh, she was good.

"Mind if I grab a cup?" John asked. "I'll be out of your hair in a moment."

"Actually, would it be too much trouble if you were to stay a quick second? I think it makes sense to speak to both of you now instead of allowing Karkat to catch you up to speed a week late."

John frowned. "Maybe I'll skip the tea. I think I know what this is about."

* * *

You can no longer be Kanaya because you cannot know what she is discussing just yet.

**=== Be Rose**

Sneaky bastard. No.

**=== Be Rose after Kanaya leaves…?**

That I can do.

You are now Miss Rose Lalonde, though you won't get a proper introduction until it is time for you to be properly introduced. Which is not yet.

* * *

John and Rose sat side by side on the couch. Rose was a little…shaken. Which was understandable, she hadn't expected to see Kanaya over anytime soon, no matter the conditions. She had expected Karkat himself to deliver the news, but no, her ex had shown up in his place. It had been more than two years since they'd been involved, true, but it was unnerving nonetheless. It was awkward. She wasn't even properly dressed. Furthermore, had John caught on?

Thinking of John, he took the moment of silence to wrap his arms around Rose's waist and pull her close. "You all right there, hun?" he asked, pressing his lips to the back of her neck.

"Fine, just spacing."

"Spacing for an awful long while." He kissed the side of her neck. "What're you thinking about, Rosey?"

She hated that nickname. Though, for John and his adorably sweet self, she let it slide. "Things. Important things. There are so many important things all happening at once. Too many important things."

"There are always important things happening. If there weren't life would be so incredibly dull." He ran a finger up the length of her thigh.

"It would, wouldn't it?" She laid a hand over his. "Would you kill me if I said I wasn't feeling up to it anymore?"

John drew back. "Kill you? Nah, I'd do worse than kill you. First, I'd carry you off to bed!" he cried and scooped Rose up in one graceful motion and charged to their fluffy white queen-sized four-poster. He tossed her in—gentle enough not to hurt her but rough enough to be playful—and climbed in on top of her.

"Next I'd take off my silly glasses and turn the lamp off—" click "—and give you a goodnight kiss." John leaned down and gave Rose a kiss far too sweet and loving to even consider being of a sensual nature.

"Then I'd cuddle you until we fell asleep." He reached down and brought the covers up over them, snuggling in beside her. They tangled together so easily, so simply. Occasionally, it gave Rose butterflies, not that she'd ever admit to it. John kissed her cheek and she could feel goosebumps shudder across her body. What had she done so right to deserve this boy?

"I love you," he whispered and kissed her again.

"I love you too."

* * *

Rose awoke the next morning to an empty bed and the smell of…was that bacon? Oh, she _really_ didn't deserve this boy.

She found John in the kitchen, attempting to cook pancakes and bacon at the same time, a spatula in each hand and a piece of toast in his mouth. She allowed herself to laugh at how ridiculous he looked.

"I do awl disf for yew and disf is haou yew rescpawnd?"

"John, take the toast out of your mouth, I can't understand a word you're saying."

"I _said_," he repeated, toast and spatula in right hand, "_I do all this for you and this is how you respond?_ How thoughtless, Rose."

"Oh, come off it," she said and stood on her tiptoes to give him a quick peck on the cheek.

"I will not come off it, I find it offensive," he teased and leaned down to kiss her full on the mouth. "Morning breath, how unattractive. There's some coffee on the table to fix that."

"You made—you didn't have to."

"Of course I had to." He frowned. "A man doesn't go saying 'I love you' and then not fix breakfast, or at least make coffee for his beautiful girlfriend."

"You did both."

"Yes. I am an overachiever. Have been since kindergarten."

"I honestly doubt that."

"Well, not an academic overachiever, a comedic overachiever. An overachiever nonetheless."

"Whatever you say." Rose shrugged and braced herself for John's coffee. He'd never made her a cup before, and not drinking it himself, she expected the—

Oh. This was rather good. Delicious, actually. Gold star, Mister Overachiever. Gold, shiny star.

"How is it?"

"It's…it's fantastic, John."

"You don't have to lie, Rose."

"I'm not lying." She looped her free arm around one of his. "It's maybe one of the best cups I've ever had."

"Then you haven't had good coffee."

"I have too had—this is all about sex, isn't it?"

"What?" John laughed. "No, no, where did that come from? Honestly, I thought you'd know by now that things 'being about sex' include roses and me trying very hard to but miserably failing at serenading you with cheesy love ballads and reading my god-awful poetry."

"And trying to seduce me while lying on the bed with a pillow protecting your modesty."

"Exactly! Those things are usually about sex because they're of a sexual nature. How is cooking you bacon and making coffee of a sexual nature?"

"With you, it's all a guessing game."

"It is so not."

Rose raised an eyebrow.

"Fine, it is. _Anyway_, there is a reason why I'm doing all this, and it's not to get in your knickers, not that I haven't done it before. And it's because, well, it's because I feel like I should do it." He looked around nervously and flipped the pancakes and bacon onto their respective plates. "You mean the stars to me, Rose, and I think I should show that to you somehow, aside from all of the kissing and lovemaking. Because that's not nearly enough, and I feel like it's not special enough, like it's _not enough_."

"And all the random presents, Casanova?"

"Still not good enough. I don't deserve you, Rose, but I got you anyway, and I'm trying my hardest to keep it that way."

"I think this all proves that you're far too good for me."

"Nonsense. "

"If anything, neither of us is good enough for the other, but we ended up here, and I'm going to make damn sure it stays this way. Because I love you, John, and I'm not all that keen on losing you. I can't imagine things without you."

John set the spatulas down and gathered Rose into his arms, holder her tightly against him. "And I love you too, Rosey, and I don't want to let you go."

"So don't."

* * *

And that is as far as you can see into Rose's life. Christ, that was fluffy.

**=== Be the maid.**

Who, Aradia?

**=== Yes, her. We haven't followed her yet. You'll let us, right?**

You just went from singular to plural.

**=== We are using the Royal We**.

Oh, okay.

Uh, sure, I guess.

Your name is Aradia Megido, and you've been in Serket service for the majority of your short life. You've virtually grown up with Vriska, having been in the house since you were six. You're a Scottish girl, born and raised in Glasgow. You look more black Irish than anything; pale, dark hair, mahogany eyes. Funny, you've not a lick of Irish blood in you. You have a love of adventure and tend to lose yourself in books when you're not furiously working for your high-maintenance employer. You're a night owl, and are very thankful the lady of the house doesn't rise before noon or you'd be in heaps of trouble. Why are you a night owl? Oh, that's simple. Past midnight is the only time you can see a…_friend_ of yours. He works all day as well and you fancy his company enough to stay up to see him. The two of you go exploring a lot. You always hope one of these days you'll come across a fossil or ruin of some sort, but this _is_ New York after all. The only fossils are the ones walking around in stuffy fur coats and extravagantly expensive designer shoes.

* * *

Aradia sat anxiously at the big back window in the sitting room, counting down the minutes to two o'clock. In the morning, that is. She was waiting impatiently for someone. She had wasted her patience on Vriska over the course of the day. Now she was jumpy. Antsy. She couldn't stop shaking her legs or tapping her fingers. She could almost taste the excitement rolling off her body in waves.

A shadow passed across the window and quietly pulled the glass frame open wide enough to slide in. Looking slightly disheveled with leaves in his hair and dirt on his hands was her companion, somehow still dashing as ever. She was unable to stop herself from grinning like a mad chimpanzee.

"'Allo, love."

"Good evening, Sollux."

He gave her a quick peck on the cheek and she could have melted in gleefulness. "How are you tonight, me speckled hen?"

"To be honest? Tired. And bored."

"Bored? Our Aradia, bored? Nah, can't be, love. Of all the dames I know, you ain't one to be bored. Always gots a trick up your sleeve, ace in the hole, rabbit in your 'at."

"Not tonight. Been a long day."

"Has it?" He pulled a chair from one of the tables and sat in it the wrong way, leaning his arms on the back. "You know the rules then, pet. Gots to tell me everyfing, start to end."

"Where do I begin?"

"Where you want, love, though I do suggest the beginnin'. Always a proper place to start."

Aradia took a deep breath and relayed her entire day to him; start to end, finishing with his arrival. He interjected sometimes, defending her against her employer and making awful jokes about the other servants in the house. He paid attention through the whole of it, somehow able to stay focused on her flailing descriptions and rapid, nervous pace.

"And what about your day?" she asked upon completion.

He simply laughed. "Oh, AA, you kill me. You know the answer already. I don't need to waste me breath, now does I?"

"I guess now."

"Good. Listen, love, I've got a…_question_ for you. Do you fink…I mean, you knows how I love me pairs, right?"

"Your obsession with items in twos or a preference regarding the cutting up and consumption of a specific type of fruit?"

"The former. I love fings that go together. Like chocolate and kittens."

Aradia giggled. "Those don't go together!"

"They do if I says so, and I says so. You're ruinin' me speech, love, I 'ad it all planned out and everyfing. I like pairs, right? Going back to the beginnin' here. I love pairs and I was won'drin'…well. If you'd consider…Forget I said anyfing, all right?"

"No, no, now I'm curious. Go on!"

"But love!"

"No buts, continue please?"

"I was finkin'—"

The back window opened and another person crawled into the room, silencing the pair. Aradia should have done something but she was caught horribly off-guard and forgot everyfing—whoops, _everything_—about her training. Sollux was equally as paralyzed.

Terezi Pyrope, one of the boss' best friends and ironically the daughter of the best lawyer in the five boroughs, clambered in and shut the window. She cocked her head in Aradia's direction as she carefully removed leaves and twigs from her hair and clothing. An eyebrow shot up and she made very little, very undetectable motions that Aradia could read like a book after so many years of acquaintanceship. She gave a slight shrug of her shoulders.

'Right then," Terezi said awkwardly. "I'll let myself in."

* * *

**=== Be Vriska**

You are now Miss Vriska—

**=== Wait. Erm, would it be too much trouble to ask you to properly introduce her? I—We mean, she's one of the main characters and all she's got is one measly sentence. Eridan has a bigger paragraph.**

…I don't suppose it would be a problem. Okay, then. Because you asked.

Your name is Vriska Serket and you are somehow not Egyptian. You're a pure-blooded upper-class snob, having both parents ranking among the middle peerage. Your father died when you were too small to remember him. You've been raised by the servants and occasionally your mother as a result. She's usually too busy with work to care about you, however. Being a high-class criminal doesn't come easy, she frequently reminds you. Your Gram is the interesting one in the family, being a Class-A nineteenth century pirate. You've got all her old journals and like to read them when you're feeling uneasy. You're on the border of northern European—mum's English, da was Scottish—and you display the correct physical traits: blonde wavy hair, deep blue eyes, pale skin, and a moderately tall, moderately curvy frame. You moved from jolly old England to the States when you were thirteen—sent over with the servants, in fact, as you were doing something for your mother. She hasn't bothered to arrive herself, or make arrangements for your return. You keep odd friends and even odder hours. Because of your conniving, fox-like nature, you've been positively hopeless in the romance department. You had a wild, passionate, angry affair with Mister Ampora from the time you were sixteen to just a few weeks after your seventeenth birthday, but it could hardly be called_ love_. Or romance. But for some bizarre reason, there's this tingling in your gut that says you've finally found one of the things you're looking for. You're not quite sure what it is, or when it'll reveal itself to you, but it's a strong hunch. You're not certain you're going to trust it, however, as half your hunches have landed you much too close to prison for your liking.

Currently, you've woken up in bed with someone. Not, 'you've woken up in _bed_ with someone,' but 'you've woken up in bed with _someone._' As in, someone is in your bed that wasn't there when you'd turned in for the night. Isn't the English language fascinating? Simple emphasis changes the entire sentence.

* * *

Vriska rolled over and hit a body. Now, this wasn't a new happening, but it was still a little freaky. She nearly jumped upon contact, reaching for the light on her night table too quickly and knocking her eyeglasses to the floor. Dammit.

"It's bright. Turn it off."

Oh. It was Terezi.

Terezi had done this before when they were younger. Her mother was Manhattan's DA, and with a father who worked overseas, Terezi found herself alone far too often during the night. She'd snuck in through a window or knocked on the door many a Monday night. She hadn't pulled this stunt in years.

"Why are you in my bed?"

"It's big enough for two people."

"It's big enough for four people, but that doesn't answer to the question."

"I felt lonely and I'm having emotional issues. Happy?"

"Slightly less confused, not happy. Big difference."

"My emotions are being toyed with, my mother's not home, and I was alone in the house."

"And what would you like me to do about all this at…three-thirteen on a Saturday—well, now a Sunday morning?"

"Play therapist with me, I need to vent my troubles."

"And you came to _me_ about this?"

"Kanaya's drinking herself into a hole, I'm stuck with you."

"Why is Kanaya drinking herself into a hole?"

"She's upset about something, I don't know, she was more than half gone when I went over."

"I'm sure you've got better friends to vent at."

She shook her head. "Nope. Not at this time of night."

Vriska rolled her eyes. "But I'm an acceptable target at this time of night."

"Besides," Terezi went on, ignoring her, "the person I usually vent to is the source of the problem."

…Oh?

"Go on."

"So _now_ you're interested? _Vriska!_"

"Sorry! You can rant now."

"Are you sure you're awake?"

"Stalling won't wake me up any more. And no, I'm not sure. It's almost half past three in the morning. I'm not sure of anything right now."

Terezi sighed. "I guess that's a good enough answer. All right, so you know how I've got the hickey?"

Vriska snorted. "You mean the smeared circus makeup on your neck?"

"Be quiet. You haven't even seen the one—nevermind. Not important. Anyway, I take it your _fabulous_ sleuthing abilities have located the culprit, correct?"

"Actually, no." Vriska had no idea who planted such a huge hickey on Terezi's neck. She could barely remember last ni—two nights ago. Damn this three-in-the-morning business.

"Really? That's a shocker. You never miss a chance to snoop around my personal life. What's gotten into you, aside from a very misplaced case of the niceties?"

"Stop meandering and get it on with it, will you? Some of us have to sleep tonight."

"Right. Sleep. Forgot about that. You're familiar with the Vantas family, correct?"

"And their bizarre alien son, yes."

"He's not an alien!" she snapped back too fiercely to be just _friends_. "He's got a condition, that doesn't make him—but you know about him, right?"

"I distinctly remember seeing his weird albino face in my house Friday night, yes."

"It's not weird."

"You just love blondes too much. No wonder we're friends."

"_Shut. Up._"

"It's _so_ true though. Remember when you were all hot about that other kid? His hair wasn't as golden as mine though, sort of pale-ish."

"I'm not listening."

"You were practically _drooling_."

"Lalala I've got my fingers in my ears _I can't hear you_."

"And it was so _obvious_ and he was kinda into you too but then you discovered _Superblonde,_ alias Karkat Vantas, who's hair was so blonde it was white!"

"Vriska, I could kill you."

"And you fell deeply, _madly_ in love with Superblonde, who came to your rescue on more than one occasion, but never revealed his identity. You eventually tracked him down to discover he was in fact—"

"Vriska, you're over-dramatizing this."

"—the heir to the Polish mob, and the only son of the current boss. You, being the daughter of _Nataliya Redglare_, were forbidden from ever engaging in a relationship with your prince! You found you were trapped in a _Romeo and Juliet-_esque romance—"

"Vriska, _Romeo and Juliet_ is unbelievably tacky and clichéd. It was practically a stab at young lovers."

"—and would be condemned when your families discovered your plans to elope—"

"Our plans to _what?_"

"—and would then perish in each other's arms in order to make a statement of love to your families, willing them to reconcile their differences with your parting!"

Vriska stopped to discover Terezi with her knees pulled up to her chest and arms shielding her face from Vriska's eyes. Her back moved irregularly in a jerky pattern.

Oh no.

"Hey, Tez. Tez, I'm sorry." Vriska reached out and rubbed her shoulder. "I got carried away again, you know how that happens all the time. I didn't mean it. Whatever I did to upset you, I didn't mean it. It wasn't true, all those things I said."

"O-of _course_ it wasn't true you _idiot_," she hiccupped. "I'm n-not tearing over _that_ you great insensitive oaf. Talk about misunderstandings. It's just I—I saw one of them again."

"Your premonitions?"

Terezi nodded. "And it was nothing but b-blood and gore and death."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not yet. I'm afraid it'll come true if I sp-speak too soon."

"I'll be up all night if you come 'round."

"Doubt I will. I want to go to sleep now."

Vriska sighed and turned out the light.

* * *

The Marquise called at nine o'clock on the dot, waking half the staff and annoying the boss. Vriska slid out of bed, careful not to wake Terezi. Pulling on a fluffy blue dressing gown, she hurried downstairs and to the parlor phone. This was going to be such a hassle if she wanted to play Early Phone Calls for the entirety of the mission.

"Good morning, sweetie pie! How is Mummy's little assassin?"

"Tired and wishes you wouldn't call so early."

"It's three o'clock, sugarplum, not very early at all."

"It's nine here, mummy."

"Oh, pity, I woke you, didn't I?"

"For once, yes."

"Success!"

Vriska had to hold the earpiece away from her so she wouldn't go deaf from her mother's cheering.

"Yes, good job, mummy. You woke me up. Woo. Now can we get on with this call?"

"Of course, love. Now, tell Mummy everything you've uncovered."

"It's been a day."

"You're not that incompetent, Vriska, dear. I expect you to at least have basic information by now."

"Yes, I do. I'm meeting the man's son this afternoon."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, met him yesterday. Kinda timid, should be able to play him easily."

"Now ducky, I hardly think the son of a Mafia Don is timid."

"He is as timid as timid gets, mummy. Or at least nice. Too nice. But he's friends with the Makara boy."

"The Irish lad?"

"That one. He makes me a bit worried. Any tips?"

"One that you _must_ abide by, sugar. Never _ever_ be in the vicinity when he's…missed his medication."

"Erm, why?"

"He's a monster, kitten. A terrible, bloodthirsty monster. Good luck, sweetie, I'll check back on you tomorrow." _Click_.

"I hope she doesn't call early again," Vriska muttered to herself.

Climbing the stairs back to her room, Vriska found Terezi climbing down. She was wrapped in the dressing gown she kept in Vriska's bathroom, though she called it a _robe_, of all things. It was white with teal polka dots. Childish, as it was a few years old. Come to think of it, Terezi kept a lot of clothes in her room. Weird.

"Hey. I was going to see if there was anything to eat."

"And I was going back to bed."

"No, come downstairs with me, I want to talk." Terezi grabbed hold of Vriska's sleeve and forced her back down too fast for Vriska's liking. "I hope there's tea."

"There's always tea. My staff is English. Hell, _I'm _English. We do fit _some _stereotypes, you know."

"Ginger tea?"

"We're not Chinese."

"Actually, Vriska, you don't have to be Chinese to drink ginger tea."

"You do in this house." Vriska swung around to a passing maid. "Where's Aradia?"

"Still in bed, milady. She gets up at ten, an hour before you."

"But I'm up early today. Wake her up for me, please."

Terezi stared at Vriska as they continued to the main dining hall. "You just said _please_."

"I'm perfectly nice to my staff, thank you. They work for me and can quit at any time, though they do get paid fabulously for putting up with me."

"It's just weird to hear you saying please."

"Oh hush up. I smell scones."

There was a plate of scones and muffins sitting in front of her place at the table, a fresh cup of tea steeped and steaming, and a small omelet. The staff knew how to outdo themselves when she was in a bad mood. Well played, kitchen staff, well played.

"Are you up to listening to me rant now or should I wait?" Terezi slid into the chair to Vriska's left. She was quickly brought a cup of tea and cream.

"As long as you don't care that I won't be speaking much."

"That is the point of a rant; I talk, you listen."

"Then go ahead."

"All right so remember how you were making fun of me last night?"

Vriska nodded.

"Well, yes, I guess you were semi-right about some of it, _but only some, and only semi_."

"What's going on?"

"That's the problem, I don't _know_ what's going on!" Terezi spread her arms wide as her voice climbed up the octave. "This boy is so _confusing!_ He can't make up his mind! I don't know what he wants from me, _if_ he wants me, or if he's just _toying with my mind!_ One minute, he thinks I'm swell, the next he thinks I'm a toxic, angry flower and doesn't want anything to do with me. He's more bipolar than his best _friend,_ Goddammit! He tried to make up for it half the time, then the other half he's just grumpy.

"And that's another thing. He's _always _angry. Most of the time, I don't mind because he's angry with other people, not me. But when he's furious at me, _oh God_ it's bad. And then he hardly apologizes for it! It's like it is not an issue if he's angry with me, but if I'm angry with him, all hell breaks loose!" Terezi finished, buried her head in her arms, and screamed.

"You are clearly frustrated and may need professional help."

"I. Do not. Need. A shrink. He needs a shrink."

"Calm down before you break the china with all this tension."

"I don't understand men."

"Neither do I."

"What are you talking about?" She raised her head, frown nipping at the corners of her mouth. "You play them like violins all the time."

"Playing people and understanding them is not the same thing."

Terezi snorted. "Of course it is. You need to know someone before you can play them. And _you_ read people well enough to have them jump off bridges for you."

"That was one time."

"Still. Since when have _you_ had issues in the romance department?"

"I've always had issues there."

"What about Eridan—"

"That was not romance and you know it so shut up."

"Did I hit a nerve?"

"I'm not listening, see? I'm reading the paper."

"If I were you, I would _so _get back at you for earlier. But I'm _nicer_ than you, so I won't."

"As if."

"Am too. Go on, what were you saying?"

"I'm awful when it comes to understanding men? There's this one—"

"Ooh! Gossip time!"

"Get stuffed. It is not gossip time. There's this one I'm meeting with today that I just don't quite understand."

"So you're going on a date?" Terezi batted her eyelashes, fully recovered from her tantrum.

"What? No, it's not a date! I'm not going on a date. It's business related, Jesus."

* * *

However, when the Don's son showed up at her door six hours later, it certainly appeared to be a date.

Talk about misunderstandings.

* * *

**A/N:** I swear everyone's getting more action than Vriska and Tavros.**  
**

Also,** I'm replacing Sollux's lisp with a Cockney accent**, because both are obnoxious and annoying to write, but at least now I don't have to deal with the awkward random "th" that occasionally makes it impossible to determine which word is being said.

And yes, Vriska just made parallels to Superman and Shakespeare in the same rant. Honestly, I should change the genre from drama to humor.

So if no one's noticed by now, this is a _very_ character-driven story. (Seriously, go count the number of paragraphs that aren't associated with dialogue.) I'm slacking so hard in the description department and I apologize. Been taught for years that the less fluffy the language, the better, because we don't live in the 19th century and writing in a style comparable to _Moby Dick_ is less-than-ideal. My style is naturally more descriptive and does pull more from 19th century prose, but I'm trying not to bore everyone here.  
**tl;dr I fail at description. Let me know if I should be more descriptive.**

Also, I'm **going to go forward on the idea of writing extra scenes that won't appear**, but fret not! It won't take away time from writing this. Promise. **If anyone has requested scenes, feel free to ask!**

As always, **you guys rock**, **thanks SO MUCH** for the **kind words, suggestions, and reviews**, and feel free to **alert me to my spelling-and-grammar failures!**

**Endnote: I FOUND A USE FOR THE BOLD BUTTON AND IT IS GLORIOUS.  
**

* * *

**HOLY GOD TIME FOR RESPONDING  
**

**The Walrus:**  
I am in love with your description of this. And thanks!

**Someone:**  
Sorry love, I'm going to be actually trying from here on out so I can do away with all these superfluous intensifiers. Because they're ugly and take up space. If consistency's an issue, I'll just go back and fix things, because my inner editor is going bananas from not drafting these chapters. I mean, it's helping me stick with a story and see it though, but at the same time it's sloppy.

**Guest Una:**  
It makes me happy to know that this makes you happy. And thank you! I shall!

**Sandhya**  
Shhh you gotta build these things up first. Can't rush or it gets messy and hangs in the suspension of disbelief. I'll get on with it, but at the correct pace. Which should be faster than the molasses it's currently matching speeds with.

**fhhnssri:  
**I'm in-between debating if the name was a button-mash or a secret acronym. I'm cool with either. Aww thanks! I'm a sucker for period dramas as well. Towards the end of the Victorian period is my personal favorite, with all the industrialization and brewing tides of war and such.


	7. Lady and the Mob

At around three in the afternoon the bells for the front door chimed. Vriska was never one for keeping time and it was becoming a problem, especially because she was reading her Gram's journals. While sipping tea in the library. Half-dressed. She couldn't accept company like this, regardless of who was at the door.

She bolted up the stairs, passing a confused Aradia and two other bewildered members of the staff before throwing herself into her chambers. _Don't get nervous now, _she thought, _but there's a mafia boy at your door._ What did she wear?

Something black? No, too depressing. Bright colors? No, too—did she even _own_ those? Patterned? Tacky. Suit? Too business-y. Simple dress? No, those things made her look like a waif. _Fancy _dress? No, it was fancy! That was right in the question! Ugh, being a woman could be so difficult!

She settled upon a not-too-plain-not-too-flashy cerulean dress and a matching wide-brimmed hat. It had an array of blue and black feathers sticking out of the black satin ribbon around the base. She was such a sucker for foreign fashion. She was ridiculously out of style half the time, but she was fine with it. Besides, she looked more sophisticated in the classier gowns and hats. Hah. Flappers. _Such_ vulgar, common filth.

She was going to out-dress this common-blooded boy. Even if he was in a suit, she would be the more spectacularly dressed of the two. She was sure of it, even though she had yet to see him.

Vriska almost skipped into the parlor, but that was a highly un-Vriska activity. Instead, she walked briskly, swinging her hips in a fashion similar to her mother. Oh, joy, she was slowly becoming the Marquise. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? She didn't want to know.

Tavros was standing awkwardly by a window, gazing out at the back gardens. They were beautifully kept, with a small hedge maze reminiscent of the larger, mother maze at Longleat, the family's seat near Horningsham. Vriska used to get lost constantly in the rows of dwarf box, needing to be fetched for dinner by a team of gardeners. The thought of her far, distant childhood installed a brief bout of nostalgia in her core, and it took a moment for Vriska to approach her guest.

"Pretty, isn't it?'

Contrary to her assumption, the boy didn't jump. "The maze looks confusing."

"It's not as bad as the original one. My mother designed it to take hours to navigate. She has always been one for puzzles. Turned everything into a game of wits, thought, and chance."

"Your mother sounds a bit strange, no offense intended."

"None taken. She does seem to be a headcase. In my opinion, anyway."

Tavros turned to her, a small smile trying to climb onto his face. "My dad as well. Always planning, always scheming. I can't help but wonder how he has time for anything else, like poker. He always has time for poker."

"And my mum always has time for bridge." She smiled, warmer than intended.

"I've decided what I want, by the way, and I hope it's not too much to ask."

Vriska took a moment to study his appearance, which she had been avoiding since walking in the room. He had switched yesterday's simple brown suit for a black three piece—a double-breasted waistcoat and a single-breasted jacket—and had a homburg in place of a fedora, which was neatly tucked under an arm. He was clean-shaven and his hair was neatly combed and parted. He had out-dressed her. Vriska, the Marquise's daughter, was being upstaged by a Mafia Don's peasant son.

What was the world coming to?

And aside from that, why was he dressed so...

"There's an Italian restaurant in Manhattan I'm fond of," he said quietly, studying her face for a reaction. "They make a spectacular _pollo alla potentina_."

Vriska had no idea what that was. She would have to take his word for it. "What are you—"

"Let me take you out to dinner. That's my request."

_There's no way he wasn't put up to this,_ Vriska thought as she weighed the pros and cons. "It's three in the afternoon."

He shrugged. "Would you like to do something in the meanwhile?"

"I owe you, shouldn't I pay?"

Tavros flashed a devilish smile. "If you want, then the bill's all yours."

"It's still three in the afternoon."

"It'll take some time to get over there, I imagine, and we could walk around, though I doubt we'll have time; I've got a reservation but they get busy quickly."

If this was a trap, Vriska was falling straight into it. Which was, well, _bad._ It gave her an opportunity to study the boy and pick out any weaknesses or malleable points she could press on, but at the same time she would be putting herself out in the open. Assassins weren't supposed to do that. It was part of the code. But...would Mumsie do it? Would she put herself in a deadly position in order to obtain information? And Gram? Yes. They would. If they would, then so would she.

"Would you like to see the garden to pass the time?"

* * *

**=== Ooh this is exciting! Can We follow Past Tavros? When Vriska first enters?**

...Exciting? It's not...but you're going to have to read it all over...fine. Just pay attention, all right? The Italian boy drops some important points among his...fawning drivel.

* * *

Nerves. Everything was tingling and erratic because of nerves. Tavros was so nervous it was a surprise he wasn't nauseous. Butterflies were fluttering through his insides, but it was semi-pleasant. A light and fluffy feeling encased him like a fuzzy blanket.

She was more beautiful than he'd remembered, with her golden hair rippling and curving down her shoulders in perfect waves. She was in some gorgeous Parisian dress. It flowed around her shoulders and waist to emphasize her bust and hips, which didn't need much emphasis to start with. He wanted nothing more than to slip his hands under the delicate silk, to see if her skin was as soft. If her breasts were as supple as they appeared. If her lips were as cherry as they looked.

This whole night was going to be a game of Don't Get Caught Drooling. He was going to suffer, but he was going to be happy about it.

No, no, no this was stupid. He'd known her less than a day. This was nothing but lust. Nothing but lust. Nothing but—

He turned around to the window, hopefully before she caught him staring. That would be disastrous. The garden was a lovely distraction. Being autumn, the flowering plants were no longer in bloom, but there was a clear-glass greenhouse in the west section of the garden. From the window, he could identify large, blooming bushes of Tea Roses by their distinct yellow-tinged petals. There was a hedge maze in the center section, which dominated an entire portion of the garden, sweeping backwards and overlapping other sections of the lawn.

He heard her before she spoke. "Pretty, isn't it?'

He turned to her, trying not to break under her gaze. "The maze looks confusing."

"It's not as bad as the original one. My mother designed it to take hours to navigate. She has always been one for puzzles. Turned everything into a game of wits, thought, and chance."

There was _another_ one? Oh lord. "Your mother sounds a bit strange, no offense intended."

"None taken. She does seem to be a headcase. In my opinion, anyway."

"My dad as well. Always planning, always scheming. I can't help but wonder how he has time for anything else, like poker. He always has time for poker."

"And my mum always has time for bridge." Her smile was made of diamonds.

"I've decided what I want, by the way, and I hope it's not too much to ask."

Now it was time to unleash his request. After talking it over with his father, Tavros had decided what he would do—not what Papa wanted. The Don wanted him to spy on the girl, take her out to one of the Mob-run joints. Instead, he was going to bring her somewhere more respectable, an upper-class restaurant run by a wise old gentleman and his three sons. No sleazy, run-down deli for this radiant rose of a girl.

"There's an Italian restaurant in Manhattan I'm fond of. They make a spectacular _pollo alla potentina_." It was called _Celestina_. Just below Broadway. He hoped she'd love it nearly as much as he did.

"What are you—"

"Let me take you out to dinner. That's my request."

"It's three in the afternoon."

Right. Timing. It _was _early. He wasn't good at planning these things. "Would you like to do something in the meanwhile?"

"I owe you, shouldn't I pay?"

He smirked. "If you want, then the bill's all yours."

"It's still three in the afternoon."

"It'll take some time to get over there, I imagine, and we could walk around, though I doubt we'll have time; I've got a reservation but they get busy quickly."

Vriska bit her lip. "Would you like to see the garden to pass the time?"

* * *

The garden was lit in the faint midday sun, basking the planets in a white-gold light. Vriska's delicate hair positively gleamed in the rays, glowing a warm gold. He wanted to compare her to something—a Greek muse or a Roman goddess—but nothing fit. She was beautiful but her motions and expressions hid a more rattled psyche than she cared to display. She was a queen of deceit, said her actions. He must be wary.

"I wish I had more to show," she said and chuckled. "The garden is pitiful in autumn, you should have come during the spring months. It's a wide expanse of color in May."

"I didn't know you in May," Tavros said with a slight grin.

"Of course you didn't, it was just a thought."

"What do you normally keep in the garden?"

"You mean what is planted? Poppies. Lots of poppies of all colors. Cheddar Pink, Burnt Orchids, Love-in-a-Mist, Russian Sage, Blue Danube—which is actually still flowering over there by the fountain—Bellflower, and white roses which we paint blue in the summer. Odd habit, I know."

"You're like the Queen of Hearts in that respect."

She laughed. "I have a croquet set somewhere out here. Not sure if there are any hedgehogs though. Or flamingos." Her eyes smiled with her mouth. "What about you? Do you keep a garden. Or does your mother?"

"No, we don't have a garden. I suspect we would if my mother was still alive. She loved plants and spices and herbs."

Vriska drew in a sharp breath. "I'm so sorry."

He waved it away. She had died long ago, but it still stung, and he tried his hardest not to let it show. "She passed when I was six."

"So young..." She paused at the fountain and sat down, her back to the alabaster lions with their sharp teeth and the ivory unicorns with their glistening horns. She was more than a little English, he noted.

Vriska motioned for him to sit beside her. "Tell me about your mother."

Nervous and now nostalgic, Tavros sat next to the pretty English rose, trying not to quiver like a leaf in the wind. "She was...she was a fantastic woman. Sweet, kind, and loving. You know, all the things a mother should be. Never raised her voice, never struck me. But she wasn't timid. She was strong, and often went for weeks taking care of me with no help from my father. Work didn't permit him to assist her much. And I miss her. A lot."

She nodded slowly. "I know what it's like to grow up without a parent. My father died when I was young, too, but I guess I got lucky and I was too little to remember him. I don't even remember what he looks like. My mother keeps his picture on her night table, but it's the only one I know of—no paintings or silhouettes—and I've never gotten close enough to see it properly."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." She turned to Tavros, giving him a knowing, atrabilious look, a wistful expression in her eyes. "You can't replace the years of the past."

* * *

**=== Be Vriska. And get on with the fluff!**

Jeez you're demanding. They barely know each other! You have to build these things up!

**=== What about John and Rose?**

Okay, they had _clearly _been seeing each other for a while at the time of their premature introduction. They're not a valid example.

**=== Gamzee and Kanaya?**

You can't even bring those two into this discussion. They're...it's complicated.

**=== What about Karkat and Terezi?**

Who knows. And they're having issues, remember? Or did you skip the last two chapters?

**=== Wait, does that mean that they won't be a-**

Have you been paying attention? No. Really. Go back, reread, and debunk that theory this instant. SHEESH!

* * *

The restaurant was nicer than Vriska was expecting. She felt underdressed. There was a six-part string ensemble of a cello, a viola, two violins, a mandolin, and a harp. Somehow, the combination of the instruments created an Italian atmosphere with music alone. It lived up to its name, _Celestina,_ with pools of crystal blue water used as decorations, pale blue walls and napkins, and blue seat cushions. She'd never come across anything like it on either side of the pond.

"I hope this isn't putting you off in any way," Tavros said in a quiet voice filled to the brim with worry.

"Quite the opposite," she replied after catching sight of a tank of rich-hued Mediterranean fish.

The well-dressed waiter led them to a table in the northeast corner that wasn't exactly secluded, but not included in the circular floor-plan. Vriska glanced around to see three more tables like this, each in the corners of the restaurant, each with gushy-looking couples seated in candlelight. No, no wait, he wasn't—they weren't—crap. Misunderstanding central was occurring right in front of her and she hadn't the ill-mannered behavior to correct it. Dammit.

Vriska narrowed her eyes over her menu when their waiter had taken drink orders and departed. "Are we on a_ date?_"

"Erm, no? I don't think so. Unless you want to be."

"Not exactly."

"Oh." He appeared hurt.

Shit dammit fucking bollocks sodding hell...Maybe for one night it wouldn't be horrible. Especially if she could sap some knowledge out of him, which was harder if he was moping the whole time. "Fine. Sorry. Only tonight, though."

That cheered him up. What, was he lovesick already? That would be a first. "Sorry. Yes. Just tonight."

Vriska nodded automatically and glanced down at the menu. Everything was in Italian, ingredients and dish names. Bloody hell, how was she supposed to order anything?

"Erm, I'm fluent, if you need any help."

"I need help with everything."

She could see the laughter in his eyes. "Do you like chicken?"

"Chicken's fine."

"No allergies?"

"None that I know of."

"Then would you like that dish I mentioned earlier?"

Polo All A Potent Tea Nah or somethingorother. She had no clue what was in it. Or what it was. "Sure?"

"Great." He smiled.

Tavros ordered in his fluent Italian when their waiter returned with two waters. _"You can't eat Italian food without wine,"_ he had said, _"and that's illegal. So we're stuck with water."_

"I can't speak another language," Vriska said with a sigh.

"None?"

"Well, I know some Scotch Gaelic, but it's a _teeny tiny _amount. Nothing to get by on."

"I suspect I only know Italian because my dad's _from_ Italy. It was his first language."

"And yours was?"

"English. Everyone speaks it in my household, just not as well."

"And I bet you learned it in school."

He allowed himself a chuckle. "That too."

When food arrived, Vriska started..._looking_ at the boy properly. Noticing the way his hair fell across his forehead, the distinct, somewhat orange hue of his eyes, the way his nose crinkled when he smiled. He was kind of cute, once she got around how nervous he was; his hands were trembling and he glanced around whenever he spoke to her. But other than that, he was a little—

_NO. NO NO NO CONCENTRATE ON THE MISSION._

This was getting crazy. Vriska was torn between _Hey, you're kind of interesting _and _I'm using you to get to your dad._ It was awkward, it was strange, and she didn't like it. Whenever she found someone interesting or _friendly_, there was something wrong with them. From Terezi and her hellbent justice-powered nature to Eridan and his lustful, angry ambition to get rid of half the population.

Everyone was bananas. Including her. Heck, she was an assassin who was raised by her puzzle-loving, somewhat terrifying, not-quite-all-there psychopathic mother. And if she wasn't a psychopath, she was just down-right crazy, which was more frightening. Everyone was bananas.

She debated whether to bail or not and glanced around—

Whoops no.

Vriska ducked, pulling Tavros down behind the table with her. "Okay, don't look, but people I know just showed up."

Of course, he went and looked. She hissed. "_I said don't look, did I not?!"_

"Sorry, sorry! Are you sure you know them?"

She popped up for a quick second and, yes, she did. That bright, almost white spiky hair was hard to miss, especially next to the shoulder-length auburn cut. The girl had both hands wrapped around the boy's upper arm. She felt sick.

"Yes. And I don't want her seeing me."

"I, um, I don't think I know the woman."

Vriska snorted. "She's _hardly_ a woman. But surprisingly nasty if you get on her bad side. She's justice-obsessed. Funny, she hangs around all the crime families."

"The boy's the heir of the Polish mob, right?"

"And the girl's the only daughter of the House of Redglare."

"I don't think I've heard of them."

"Old Czech noble family, though her mother's half Ukrainian."

"New York really is a big melting pot, isn't it?"

"Less of a melting pot, more of a nationality convention. No one seems to give up their culture. I still drink a lot of tea, you still speak Italian, Terezi still does her weird Easter tradition and wears nothing but red for a week."

"Red?"

"Festive color. Czech, remember?"

"I'm afraid I don't know much about the Czechs."

"Neither does most of the world."

"So if you don't want her to see you, should we leave?"

Torn, now she felt torn. Did she want to leave? Yes. Leaving was good. She'd never hear the end of it if Terezi saw her. But the restaurant was gorgeous and the food was better than she expected. So no, she also didn't want to leave. "Up to you."

"I didn't have a particularly good first interaction with the boy-"

"Bit of a nutcase, isn't he?"

"He was cold, for the most part, actually. Haughty is the word, I believe."

"He's an actor if I ever saw one. Usually he's shouty and angry."

"Well I'd rather he not be shouty and angry here. We'll go, then."

The night outside had turned brisk and dark in the time they had spent in _Celestina._ Stars were beginning to sparkle in the hazy sky, but this being New York—specifically Manhattan—they wouldn't shimmer like the building lights. The Woolworth Building was aglow and visible from where they were—it was visible from most anywhere downtown, being the tallest building in the world and all. Manhattan's lights lit up the night, pushing away the stars. It was infelicitous, but captivating all the same, with the city on fire instead of the sky. The sprawling mess that was Manhattan was always tinged and amber. Tonight was no different.

Long, diesel automobiles rushed up and down the streets, their large engines roaring with raw power. Some were sleek and curved for air resistance, others were chunkier and more industrial-looking, with exhaust pipes lining their sides, pointing up into the air. Some were big and ridiculous, others were small and classy. Vriska felt some pride for her double-engined Lincoln and its bulletproof sides. Top of the industry and capable of accelerating up to seventy miles an hour. She loved diesel-power.

"Chilly tonight," Tavros observed aloud.

"Not very, but yes."

"Would you like me to take you home now?"

"Do you have something else in mind?"

He looked around and then back at her. "Can you dance?"

She internally rolled her eyes. Her? The Marquise's daughter? Of course. "A little, yes."

"Any qualms about following me to Little Italy?"

"Some, but should I trust you?"

He shrugged. "Only if you want to."

"Wherever we're going isn't mob run, is it?"

"No, of course not."

She took his hand. "Lead the way."

Vriska had no idea what she was doing, putting her hand, not to mention her _life,_ in this boy's care. She was doomed. So doomed. So _dead_. Her mother would have her head on a platter. A _gold_ platter. Take that one-uppage, silver platter. It would sparkle like a crown. And she'd be done for. But at the same time, what her mother didn't know couldn't hurt her. She had never lied to Mumsie before, but maybe anytime was a good time to start? Especially now, when it could give her a edge she previously did not have. Perhaps...perhaps just this once.

It wasn't much past nine in the evening, the night was still young and the dance hall that the nervous-but-charming boy led her to was still full, couples of all ages on the floor. Most were Italian, some were of other ethnicities. Albanian, Romanian, Greek, Serbian. The music was a mix of Italian and swing, painting the air a sweet, energetic color, with accents of love of culture and love of life. It wasn't the upper-class ballroom Vriska was used to, but the smaller, less-classy hall was full of more energy than she thought possible. Upper-class things were so stingy, but this common, peasant-grade establishment had more life than she could have imagined.

Tavros took her by the hand and led her down onto the floor. The songs were all in Italian, and she hadn't the vaguest idea of what they were about, only catching simple words every now and then. She recognized none of it, and it added the sense of adventure and intrigue into the night. She hadn't danced in ages and was more than slightly rusty, but her partner didn't mind, laughing softly at her errors before correcting them. She didn't much like the correcting part, but was secretly glad he was preventing her from looking like a complete idiot in public.

The music fluctuated from slow, simple ballads to lively, erratic melodies. Around and around she twirled, spun, and twisted. There was even a line dance at one point. All night the trumpeter played with enthusiasm and a true love of music that stung Vriska with a jab of jealousy, wishing to feel the same way about piano. The music whittled the time away, trapping the whole hall in a state of otherworldliness, lacking a time, place, or century. It was an endless loop of notes and steps, a space where your background, history, family didn't matter. Where she was just another member of the crowd, not a Marquise's daughter, not an assassin, not a grumpy, piercing, arrogant elitist. Not anyone special. Just Vriska.

She was Just Vriska, and he was Just Tavros.

And during one particular song, the only one she knew, she noticed him—his face, his smile, his eyes—on a whole different level. Noticed the way he moved, how he moved her, how they moved together. How they were just nobodies in a crowd. And this night, this night never had to end. The music never had to stop, the dance never had to conclude, the atmosphere never had to dissipate. She never had to go back to reality, where the world was coarse and cold and crumbling. Part of her never wanted to return. Part of her never would.

She rested her lips on his ear. "Let's do this again next week."

* * *

In the dark of the night, on a ship barely off the coast of the United States, a machine roared to life. Cogs turned, pistons creaked, and the metal beast rose on its six feet, tall and lean, like a jungle feline. Its metal skin shone a dull, antiqued gold in the ocher light. Piercing olive optical centers opened and its two jaws spread wide.

Next to the Russian mechanic, the Belorussian girl smiled, her white teeth glowing in the odd lighting.  
"It's purrfect."

* * *

**A/N:** Hello Dieselpunk, big words, and me actually trying to write well. Yes guys, I can write semi-well when I try. Still needs a lot of work, but it's better than usual, right? I hope so.

I love those words, atrabilious and infelicitous. The first means melancholy, the second means unfortunate, for anyone who was wondering. And I love defenestrate, but I don't know if I'll ever be able to use that. They defenestrated a Pope once, according to my Sophomore year History teacher. I wonder if he's right.

HURRAY FOR CLIFFHANGERS!

It was intended to be fluffier, but guys, they've known each other for a day. That's no time at all. Can't rush these things. Well, maybe a little, says the title.

Gahh I hope this makes up for the delay. I love you all for bearing with me.  
**I feel terrible for not being able to respond to the guest reviews, so I'm going to go back and answer them in the author's notes for their chapters, if that's all right with everyone.**

**Any ideas for scenes that don't quite make it in are genius and as always, reviews are wonderful bundles of sunshine and picking apart my errors is amazing as well.  
**

* * *

**Review Responding for Chapter 7:  
**

**ouo:  
**Wai fanks! I've seen the weird no-buildup-sudden-romance thing happen in _published_ stories, and that is just UNACCEPTABUR. It won't happen here, rest assured my dear.


	8. The Great Race Around

**There's a break in the transmission. You are forced to be Kanaya.**

* * *

The Jade Dragon inched silently across the second story of the simple white building. It wasn't the first time she'd be breaking in. She had done it loads of times over the years. It was one of those buildings you could never be safe when entering the front door.

An information agency disguised as a newspaper printing company. Or a newspaper printing company disguised as an information agency. Either way, they got their jobs done brilliantly with a barter system. You had to trade secrets to get what you wanted.

Kanaya was not interesting in trading any secrets tonight.

She jimmied the window in the third office open with ease—the hinges were old and rusted—and slipped inside, melting into the wall. Quieter than a lion stalking prey, she crossed the room and exited to the hallway, acting nonchalant.

First rule of breaking and entering: make it look like you belong there. Wear a disguise that matches your environment and don't act funny. The best place to hide is in plain sight.

There was one particular person in here she needed to talk to, and he was a floor up. Clad in a white-collared shirt, black skirt, carrying a clipboard she swiped in the first room and a cup of coffee she took from the table in the hallway, Kanaya had no trouble blending into the late-night staff. Up the stairs she went.

She knocked quickly on the third door on the left before entering. She nearly dropped the coffee cup and closed the door.

"_Seriously?!_ God, this is twice in two days!"

She re-opened the door to find the pair inside redressing themselves in a hurry. At least she hadn't come any later. That would have been...oh lord no she didn't want to think about it.

"Can I look now?"

"We're decent, if that's what you're asking."

Kanaya opened her eyes. Dave was sitting on his desk casually, like nothing had happened. His trademark sunglasses were folded next to his nameplate. His shirt was buttoned all wrong and his hair looked like it had electricity pumping through it. But he didn't care. He was Dave.

Jade was behind the desk, trying and failing to button her skirt. _She_ was flushed and embarrassed like she ought to be. Jade was normal. Normal people got embarrassed. Dave was...Dave. And Daves didn't get embarrassed.

"So who'd you catch last night?" he asked with a mischievous grin.

"None of your business."

"Aw no, you saw this. Secret for secret, remember?"

She sighed. _God_ she hated that rule. "Your cousin, if you must know."

"Ooh so Rose is finally making progress?"

"Whom was she with?" Jade asked as she raked her fingers through her hair, attempting to remove some of the tangles.

"_Your_ cousin, believe it or not."

"_John?!" _they said together, equally surprised.

"Well I'll be damned," Dave muttered. "Didn't think he had it in him. Kind of a silly bloke. Nothing like Rose."

"Do they even match up that well?"

"They looked...happy." Kanaya felt her throat tighten. She had to get off this topic. "I've come to warn you about something. Would you mind taking a seat, Jade? It shouldn't take very long."

* * *

Kanaya knocked on the familiar red door to Terezi's mother's house. It was late, oh so late, but she hoped the Heir of Redglare would be up at this absurd hour, pouring over her myriad judicial books and crime novels. If the Mistress of the House answered the door in place of her daughter, Kanaya knew she'd be in a tizzy,

To her confusion, neither of the house's ladies opened the door. She was instead greeted by irritated red eyes, wild white hair, and a pale, unclothed torso.

Oh_ God Dammit!_ NOT AGAIN.

"What are you doing here?" _What? No! Kanaya, you just can't go ask people why they are where they are!_

Karkat raised himself to his full height, which was taller than a heel-less Kanaya by four inches. "I could ask you the same."

"I came to tell Terezi about the...thing. I did not expect you would get around to it."

"Well I did."

"And then some."

Karkat groaned and opened the door for Kanaya to duck in and out of the dark street. "Is whatever you're here for going to be quick?" He led her inside to a set of leather couches and sat adjacent to her.

"It might be. I've got new information."

She studied his appearance in the dim sitting room lights. He was half dressed and looked tired. His hair was always as messy as it was now, his eyes always the same shade of crimson. But—whoa. Now _that_ was a big love bite. It started under his left pectoral and striped diagonally across his midriff, ending over his right hip bone.

These two would be the deaths of each other.

"Is that new?"

"What?" He glanced down. "No, it's old. She likes her teeth. Makes everything redder, she says."

"Things I did not need to know."

Karkat smirked. "Payback for last night."

"Hardly."

"Hmm. Yes, hardly. I guess I could go into detail about what else she likes to do—"

"I think I may be sick."

"Bathroom's on the right."

"Aren't you rushing things?"

"What?" She caught him off-guard. "You think that we—she and I—_Kanaya_." Karkat ran his hands through his hair and sat back. "She invited me to stay the night. Mother's staying uptown for the week, father's in Czechoslovakia for the month. You know how she hates being alone, Kanaya. The darkness crawls around her differently than it does you and me. Something to do with her premonitions."

"I...I apologize for jumping to conclusions. It was rash of me."

"Apology accepted. Should I go rouse the lady of the house?"

"She is not awake?"

He shook his head. "At least, I don't think so. I'm sleeping downstairs, haven't seen her since I put her to bed two hours ago."

"And what have you been doing, aside from not sleeping?"

"Reading, mostly. I wanted to stay up in case..." Mumblemumblemumble.

"I could not hear that."

"In case she needs me," Karkat repeated, barely over a whisper.

Kanaya couldn't help but smile. He was unbearably sweet under that hardened, haughty shell. Sometimes she felt envious of Terezi for having someone like Karkat by her side, constantly fumbling his signals but hopelessly devoted nonetheless. Gamzee was nothing like him in that respect. He was more hasty and cared more about his own satisfaction when he was in his 'state'. She shivered. Did that comparison just happen?

"So, erm, should I...?" Karkat trailed off awkwardly.

"Oh, yes. Quickly, please."

* * *

Karkat climbed the stairs of Tez's old, creaky house. He loved it during the day, with its gothic revival architecture, white spiral staircases, detailed crown molding and chair-rails, gorgeous old wood, and wide, bay windows. But at night, the house breathed. It moaned and shuddered with the wind, settling on its foundation. It was completely normal, Karkat knew. He wasn't twelve anymore and it shouldn't freak him out. But it did.

Terezi, of course, loved it. Most of the time, anyway.

"Tez?" He knocked quietly on her door before twisting the brass knob. "You awake?"

Terezi sat on her bed across the room, pillows and blankets surrounding her like a fort. She was huddled in the middle, with her great big stuffed dragons gathered around her, guarding her. Her eyes were wide as she pet the fuzzy head of a smaller white dragon with red wings, the one she always likened to him. She jerked as he approached; she was terrified.

"Tez, what's wrong?" He crouched before her, hands gently stroking her shoulders.

She said nothing and blinked at him. Her eyes were glassy. Oh fuck. No no no no no.

Karkat cradled her head in his palms, kissing her forehead over and over. "Please. Please tell me you're all right. Okay? Just tell me you're all right."

She looked up at him and the haziness withdrew from her eyes. "I'm okay, I'm fine. I'm sorry I scared you. Again. It's not me this time, it's not us. It's something else."

"Oh thank god you're okay," Karkat breathed and wrapped his arms around Terezi's smaller frame. His stance awkward, he lost balance and fell on top of her, crushing the pillow fort. "Sorry."

"That's fine as well," she said and returned the hug. "But there are big things to worry about. Very big things. If you took all the elephants at the zoo and assembled them into one, massive, multi-headed elephant, these things would still be bigger."

"What kind of big things?"

"There's evil afoot in the city, far more vicious than our two-faced friend. We're going to get dragged into it soon."

"Are you sure?"

She nodded, burying her face against his bare chest. "I saw it. I'm positive."

"Kanaya's waiting in the sitting room. Do you think it has to do with—"

"Yes. It does. Will you carry me downstairs? Please Karkar?"

* * *

Kanaya had to rub her eyes and blink a few times before accepting the fact that Karkat Vantas, Shouty I'll-Be-The-Leader McAngrypants, was carrying Terezi into the room. Bridal style. Tonight was just a weird night, she decided.

"It's about the Game, isn't it?" Terezi said after she settled herself on Karkat's lap.

"How did you—"

"I'm the Seer. I know some things, just like you, but you know considerably more."

Kanaya closed her mouth. Huh. She wasn't expecting this. "Yes, it is about the Game. It is going to be starting soon. The Zahhak and Leijon kids are on their way back from Russia. They will dock within the next twelve hours."

"And how long will we have after then?" Karkat slipped his arms around Terezi's waist. The action was more defensive than loving.

"A week. Maybe more, maybe less. I cannot tell for sure."

"Have they gotten what they went looking for? Or was it an empty raid?"

"From what I understand, the cargo was located and is currently on board with them."

"Excellent." Terezi rested her hands over Karkat's. "Maybe now we've got a chance."

"And Equius has uncovered...something else."

"Oh?"

"We're going to need to team up if we want to make it out of this alive. Meet me on Pier 42 tomorrow morning around ten. I need everyone together to explain this properly, or else we have no shot."

"We'll be there," Terezi said quickly. "I'll get this lump up, Kanaya, no worries."

"I have a few more people to run to. I'll let myself out, no need to get up, the two of you look comfortable."

They blushed as Kanaya made her exit, grinning all the way to Eridan's mansion.

She loved matchmaking.

* * *

**=== Be Vriska...please?**

You are now Vriska. You've just been escorted back to your house by a cute Italian boy who would call you definitely, not maybe, contrary to terrible future-pop-culture beliefs.

* * *

Vriska stood beside Tavros on her doorstep. He was more charming than she wanted to admit, and the way his hair was frazzled and gleaming in the moonlight gave her such an urge to frisk her fingers through it. But she was a lady and couldn't do such inappropriate things. At least, not outside. Inside, perhaps...but not yet.

"I had a really good time tonight," she said with a big smile, resting a hand on his arm. "It went better than I expected."

"Well I'm glad it was better than your expectations." He had such a goofy smile. It was all lopsided but adorable nonetheless.

"We should go out again sometime. You're more than a fair dancer." Vriska was having the worst time holding back this feral, raw need welling inside her. It was the same feeling she experienced all through her escapades with Ampora. Lust. She didn't want this with Tavros. He deserved better than her lust, deserved more than her carnal desires. He was sweet and kind and genuinely liked her. No reason to push him away now, was there?

"Thank you." He blushed. _Aww look at him! _"I'd love for you to accompany me again. Say, sometime next week?"

"It's a date."

"An actual one this time?"

"A real date."

"Five o'clock on Saturday? I'll come pick you up."

"I'd like that."

"It's settled, then. Goodnight, Vriska."

"Goodnight, Tavros."

Before she had a chance to regret her decision, Vriska entered her house and made straight for the stairs. She was going to lose her sense of judgement in three, two—

Hold on.

Who was.

Wait.

What?

"Araida?"

One of the shadows in the parlor jumped three feet in the air. "Vriska?"

She marched down into the dark room and flipped on a light. Aradia was sitting across from...she had no idea who that was. Okay, this was weird.

"You're going to fire me now, aren't you?"

"I—no. No, sweetie, I'm not going to fire you. You're like family. But I would like to know whom, um, _that_ is." Ew, sweetie? More and more like the Marquise every day.

The boy with the funny eyewear stood and gave her a gentlemanly bow. "Name's Captor, m'lady."

She sized him up. He was a kinda funny looking in a general kinda way. Tall and lanky with puffy, messy hair. He had big, dusty-gold goggles mounted on his forehead. One lens was blue, the other was red. They were the opposite of his eyes, one of which was a faint poppy, the other a cobalt blue. His hair was a golden sandy blonde muddier in tint than Vriska's shade. His clothes were mismatched and buttoned wrong. His face was stained with oil and grease and his fingernails were filthy. To top it off, he was wearing two different shoes.

Uh.

"Who do you work for?"

"'Whoever gives me work. Employed by a mechanics man at the mo'. Building clocks and the what like."

"Clocks?"

"An' ofer gizmos and whotsits. Good with me 'ands."

Vriska raised a confused eyebrow and Aradia's face turned into a beet. What?

"For workin'." He shoved Aradia gently on the shoulder. "Always gets flushy and red at the simplest fings. No fear of bugs and dirt and rubbish but once you mentions innuendoes you lose this bird."

The other eyebrow shot up. "And why are you in my house?"

The two accomplices—yes, she was certain they were accomplices—glanced at each other.

"Rusty pipes?"

"_Actual reason?_"

"We're friends," Aradia blurted out. "I knew you'd never let me see Sollux during my working hours so we meet up late at night when we're both off work. I'm sorry. Punish me, not him."

Vriska felt a mix of anger, confusion, and sympathy. She turned to the boy, Sollux. "How long have you know her?"

"Since we was bitty little mongrels. 'Er mum's on good an' fair terms wif me da. Caused a right good lot of trouble in our youth, din' we, love?"

Aradia sat stock still, frozen in fear.

"She's gone stiff again. Bovver. Anyways th' mess is all me fault, dun go blamin' 'er for me doings now."

Vriska found she was still giving the boy the funny look she'd been wearing since walking in the room. He was devilishly charming in a peculiar, Dandy sort of way. That smile could melt a million candles. Aradia was so petrified she wasn't noticing the way the red-blue-eyed boy was glancing over at her constantly. Poor girl.

Sollux glanced down at his wrist, eying some bizarre contraption of cogs, glass, and numbers. "Blimey, issat the time? I'll be up and splitting now, can't overstay me welcome, nows can I?"

Aradia snapped out of her trance. "Already?"

"Alls-ready, ducky. The mistress ain't none too 'appy wif me." He leaned down and pecked Aradia on the temple, causing her to go stiff again. "Until death, m'love."

And he vanished. Right in Vriska's own house, in her own parlor. _Right in front of her. _

What. No. How. What?

"He does that," Aradia said quietly as Vriska ducked down to look under furniture.

"He does?"

"I've never known how, but he does. He's a funny one like that."

Vriska frowned. "'Until death'?"

She shrugged. "He's always said that."

"Are you two..._involved?_"

The maid turned redder than a tomato. "WHAT? No! No, we're not involved! No. He's—Sollux wouldn't—he doesn't fancy me like that. Why would he fancy me like that? I'm a simple, plain, ordinary, flat-chested servant girl and he's—heisfuckingperfect. Oh my gosh I just swore!_ Hail Mary, full of Grace, the Lord is with thee_—"

Vriska's anger drained, replaced with sympathy for the younger girl. Aradia reminded her of the Eridan she knew before they'd dated. A persistent boy who fell hopelessly for everyone around him, losing at every attempt to court girls. But there was that one, that _one_ girl that Eridan fell for so hard, so fast, so brutally. He fell down down, down the rabbit hole. And he had never recovered. He tried using Vriska's wicked, wanton, lascivious medicine to quell the thirst. He drank from the darkness, the foul unicorn blood of the mortal world, but it couldn't satisfy his hunger, his need for Her. So Vriska left, leaving him cold and alone once more, with nothing but the tides of 'maybe' to propel him, nothing but Her bright image as a lighthouse on the dark, churning sea.

The last thing Vriska wanted, overpowering her disgust at Aradia for keeping this secret, for letting that strange boy into her house unwelcomed, was for that to happen to her dear, sweet, maid. Maybe it was against her nature. Maybe it was a highly un-Vriska activity, but she couldn't bear losing Aradia, who smiled when she was furious and always forgave her childish, unruly behavior. There was no replacement. She could fix this.

"How long has it been?"

"How long has what been?"

Vriska gave her a look.

"Years. It's been a fair number of years."

"Hasn't gotten any better?"

She shook her head. "If anything, it's gotten worse. Time doesn't heal all wounds. Sometimes it prolongs them."

"Have you talked to him about it."

It was Aradia's turn to make an unpleasant face at Vriska's three figurative heads. "Are you daft? That is the maddest thing I've _ever_ heard out of your mouth. Worse than all that gibberish two days ago when you were _drunk_."

"Sometimes it helps."

"Sometimes it makes you lose your friends!"

"I think you need some tea for your nerves. Come, we're going to have a proper chat about this."

* * *

**=== Be Kanaya.**

You are once again Kanaya, who is making some serious progress tonight. Wow, this is a Kanaya-centric chapter. She's a serious plot moving device, isn't she?

* * *

Kanaya climbed the steel lattice from the garden up to the second floor balcony of the Ampora mansion. She stepped gracefully onto the wide railing and jumped down, hitting the wooden deck without making a sound. She did not even need to pick a lock this time, lucky girl. She plucked a small silver key from a flowerpot and unlocked a set of well-lit French doors.

She stuck her head in. "You are not shagging anyone, right?"

Eridan leapt a foot back and to the left. "Holy Jesus, Kan!" He flew back against a wall in surprise. "What have I said about knockin'?"

"I apologize. The other two instances in which I knocked on doors tonight I was treated to the sight of semi-naked people. I figured I would be greeted by someone fully clothed if I simply entered."

And she was, technically. Eridan had on a violet robe which covered the vast majority of him.

"That's the most bananas theory I've heard, and I've heard a lotta banana-brained theories."

"Well it worked."

"Worked like a charm for both parties," he scoffed.

Kanaya shrugged. "Is Feferi in town?"

"What?"

"I need to speak to both of you. She lives next door, it's simpler to do this all at once instead of one at a time."

Eridan blinked, blushed, and nodded. "Yeah, she's in town. Don't know 'bout her mom, but she's here. I'll get dressed. Wait here."

Eridan returned moments later in an immaculate suit and they were off, exiting the house through the front door. That made Kanaya feel weird. She'd never been through the front door of Eridan's house; it just didn't happen. He left the key on the balcony, she snuck in. That's how it had always worked.

"She's probably not _awake_, considerin' the time."

"What were you doing up?"

He blushed. "Nothin'."

She raised an eyebrow. He stayed silent.

Kanaya had never been in Feferi's house. It was grander than Eridan's, if that was possible. It was an old, _old_ tudor mansion, with two marble staircases ascending to the second floor in the front room. There was a neoclassical chandelier fixed to the golden ceiling. It had festoons of crystal beads draped from the mount to the arms. There were real candles lining the gold branches, lit by gas lines inside the structure.

"It looks like the inside of a church."

Eridan laughed. "With this family? More a palace than a church. This house is too sinister to be compared to a church."

Yes, of course. The Peixes family was known far and wide for being fearsome. The daughter was so out of place in the whole thing. Feferi was too nice to be her mother's child.

Eridan led Kanaya through the corridors of the Peixes house. One hallway was a dark red in color, almost black in the faint light. The walls were covered in portraits of what Kanaya concluded to be past heads of the House of Peixes. Many were old, from the family's rule in Portugal, the colors dull and fading. They turned corner and wound up in a white hall, with ornate statues and a glass dome at the end. There was an alabaster fountain in the middle of the white marble floor. This was too elaborate.

Eridan carefully opened the glossy wood door at the end of the hallway. The front room was dark, but a light shone through the slit of the bedroom door at the far end. They knocked.

"Fef?"

The girl at the door had warm chestnut hair and wide fuchsia eyes. Kanaya wasn't going to argue with the girl's eye-color, regardless of how unnatural it was. She had a round, innocent-looking face, with dark eyebrows and a full bottom lip. Kanaya hadn't seen the girl in years and didn't recall her being pretty. _Now_ it made sense for Eridan to be blushy and fumbly when speaking about her. The Peixes girl had become extraordinarily beautiful.

"Oh, Eridan. Hullo. And...is that _Kanaya?_" She had a lighter accent than Eridan, though Kanaya knew her to be fully fluent in her native language, whereas Eridan faltered more often. It swam, like the fish of her name, rippling and song-like.

Feferi hugged them, kissing both cheeks as was customary with old friends. "_Meu deus_, it has been a long time since I saw you last. How are you? And Eridan, why this hour?"

"It is my fault, I need to see the both of you. Did we wake you?"

"No, I was reading. Can't sleep."

Kanaya glanced around. There was stack upon stack of thick, leather-bound books on the floor. Some were open, their pages displaying colorful diagrams and images. There was a fine-sized aquarium wrapping around the walls, with all manner of Mediterranean fish swimming about.

"But come in," Feferi continued, "you are welcome in my room."

Eridan and Kanaya followed Feferi to a beautiful set of 19th century French sofas. "It is about the Game."

"This game we're all supposed to play? The one Mamãe is so worried about?"

Kanaya assumed that was Portuguese for mother. "Most likely. It does endanger all of us, it makes sense for her to be worried."

"She'd interrupt to save me. As cruel as she is, she won't let anything happen to me. Her only other heir died before I was born. But no matter. Tell me about this game."

* * *

After leaving Feferi's mansion, Kanaya caught a cab up to midtown. Standing in front of a tall, familiar townhouse, she took a deep breath and knocked. There was always someone awake, and sneaking into this house meant death. Literally death.

A young girl with pin-straight red hair opened the door. Her big blue eyes gazed up at Kanaya and she broke into a smile. "Aoire!" The small girl leaped at Kanaya for a hug.

"Aisling! What are you doing up?"

"My _athair_ is being scary again. He's yelling. I can't sleep. Will you carry me?"

"I do not think I could possibly lift you, Ash. You have gotten far too big."

"_Aoire!_" the little girl whined.

"What about one of your brothers? They can lift you, can they not?" Kanaya stepped in and shut the door. "Where's your middle brother?"

"He's in his room working on some puzzle." A sly flicker arose in Aisling's eyes. "Would you like me to take you there?"

Kanaya took her hand. "Lead the way."

The Makara house was tall and long, with narrow rooms and hallways. It was a maze if you weren't familiar with it, having so many staircases leading up and down, halls that forked and split and twisted, and all manner of hidden rooms and passages. It was like a fun-house.

Up two flights, across a narrow hall connecting the two sides of the house, and a staircase down, Aisling guided Kanaya to her middle brother's room. The door was a dark brown, the handle a polished silver. Aisling tapped the silvery goat-headded knocker several times before the door opened.

Gamzee's tangle of orange hair was wilder than usual, a pair of thick-lensed goggles nestled in the mess. He looked disorganized, with his vest half-buttoned and the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to different lengths. He leaned on the door-frame and smiled down at his company. "Well hello, hello, Ash. Isn't it passed bedtime? And who've you brought for me?" He made a show of kissing Kanaya on the cheek.

"Be nice to Aoire, okay big brother?" Aisling said and giggled.

"I'm always nice to our Aoire." He wrapped an arm around her waist. "Now go back to bed, Ash, it's too late for you to be running around."

"Don't tell Athier I was up!" She scrambled down the hallway, took a sharp left, and was gone.

"I have been meaning to ask, what is an _aoire_?"

"It means shepherd in Gaelic. The kids see you as their shepherd because you're so good to them." He took her into the room and closed the door. "You lead them, teach them; you are their shepherd. You've always been so good to my little siblings, and I appreciate it." He kissed her on the other cheek. "What did you tell Karkat about us?"

"What did you tell Tavros?"

"I solemnly swear I told half the truth and nothing but half the truth, so help me god. You?"

"Not much, actually, it was rushed and misleading."

"'Atta girl." He bent down to kiss her on the lips. It was soft, fluttery, and not what she was used to. She took note of his eyes after he pulled away. They were tinged darker, but not as potent as they were a night ago.

"Are you—"

"Half in, half out. Won't be saying funny things, won't be smashing in skulls. The night is a demonic mistress to my condition. More importantly, are you okay?"

"What?"

"You look upset, doll. What's bothering my dear, lovely Shepherd?"

"I was forced to see Rose last night."

The tall Irish boy pulled her into a tight hug and kissed her forehead. "I'm sorry."

"And, of course, there is the matter of the Game."

Gamzee frowned. "That awful thing we've all got to play? The one where I've got to team up with the weird Russian kid?"

"Yes, that Game."

"Bloody hell. As if my evening couldn't get worse. First my cube blows up. Next, we run out of apple tea. Apple! _That's my tea!_ Someone's been drinking my bloody tea!"

Kanaya reached up to stroke his cheek, trying to calm him down. "I will go buy you more if you want."

"At this time of night? No stores are open. It's fine, I'll just go out tomorrow morning."

"I need you to be at the docks at ten."

"What for? Oh right, this game-thing. Is it starting tomorrow?"

"Hopefully not, but I do want to brief everyone."

"Haven't you been making housecalls to do that?"

"Yes and no? The housecalls were basic information, I need to explain in-depth tomorrow with everyone. Too much to cover in such a short time."

He kissed her temple again. "Thanks for taking time to show up here, snowberry. It makes my horrible day slightly less horrible."

"Only slightly? I am offended."

"There are ways to make it better."

"Oh? What ways?"

"These ways." He took her face in his hands and kissed her, nibbling and licking at her bottom lip. Oh there was the kiss she was used to, hot with desire.

This is what she needed, or thought she needed. To drive out the thoughts of Rose and her past liaisons, to remove those memories that only brought pain. Eradicate from her brain all the past romances and entanglements that caused the suffering, the hurt. She needed to fill the space, cover the void. And in that moment, Gamzee's mouth, tongue, lips, and roaming hands cupping and teasing her breasts were what she needed. What she thought she could use to satisfy this want to close the gap.

* * *

In the morning, Kanaya found herself tangled in sheets that were not her own. Her body felt raw and she had no idea where her clothes had wandered off to. She found clarity and comfort in the large arms holding her gently as she took in the sleeping form of whom she supposed she _should_ call her lover, because that's what their relationship appeared to be.

It was better to be with someone than no one at all.

* * *

**A/N: **Here, have a very Kanaya-centric chapter. Sorry lovelies, I adore Kan and her weird ways. And I adore suspense. SUSPENSE!

Fargo anyone? Yes? No? No? Okay. Sorry. Minnesotan pride for a second there and whoops now it's gone.

And if anyone's unaware as of now, Aradia's Catholic. Which may be why she's working for Vriska. 'Tis a Protestant country at this time, Scotland.

I'm seeing the Makara house as this odd combination of the Burrow and the house at Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Weird.

There, take your Kanzee and various other shipteases. I think we legitimately have four ships in the water now, and the rest—aside from our main ship which is currently being built—are up in the air. UP IN THE AIR I SAY!

I start classes in two days on September 5th—THE HORROR!—and don't know how fast I'll get to updating afterward. Hopefully a chapter a week. If not, I will cry.

As always, feel free to **correct my pitiful grammar** **and review your little hearts out. **Thank you to EVERYONE following my progress here! I love you all, and ta-ta for now!

* * *

**Ships in the Water:**

1. Kanaya and Gamzee - Black? Or is it red...?  
2. John and Rose - This is a fluffy ship.  
3. Dave and Jade - We think. That could've been a random shag. Wait and see.  
4. Karkat and Terezi - Who are having major issues all over the place because drama.

* * *

**Review response time for the Anons of chapter 8!**

**anonymoose:  
**Your anon-name is fantastic by the way. Aww thank you! I agree, Sollux's speech is fantastic.

**bluhbluhusername:**  
Hehehe maybe I'll hit a homerun with your OTPs later. We'll see, we'll see. Thank you sooooooo much, brah!


	9. Usque ad Mortum

Vriska was awoken the next morning by a knock on her door and Aradia's pale, sleepless face. It seemed the poor girl hadn't gotten back to sleep last night. They'd had a heart-to-heart about emotions and Vriska ended up learning a lot of things she never would have guessed about Aradia and her ways of coping with her unrequited feelings, which were interesting and surprisingly logical.

"I'm sorry, I know it's early, but there are people downstairs."

Vriska was barely awake. "Tell them to go back to Russia."

"Erm, they just got back from Russia..."

If that wasn't a wake-up call. "Equius is back?"

Aradia nodded. "And Nepeta. And they want to speak to you."

"Tell them to come back in an hour."

"We have to be somewhere in an hour."

"We? Where?"

"Go downstairs and find out."

"Has my mother called yet?"

"No, but if we hurry we can get out of the house before she does."

"We?"

"Vriska, get out of bed."

She rolled to the edge of the bed and slowly half-slipped half-fell to the ground like a child. Lying on her back, she briefly contemplated going back to sleep.

"What are you doing?"

"I cannot be bothered to stand up."

"You're nineteen years old. Act your age."

"I do not comprehend the reaction that statement was attempting to elicit."

"I said act, not speak."

"Age is meaningless. It is a number used to track the amount of time one has experienced. How can that be determined accurately if time is relative, and the passage of time is never constant? Our basic systems to measure this human-created variable do not take into consideration that it is a theoretical concept and therefore cannot be correctly applied."

"Oh my god." Aradia marched to her, took her hands, and yanked her onto her feet. "Are you drunk? You sound drunk. You're supposed to be philosophical when you're drunk, not sober, and especially not when you're sober at nine in the morning."

"I, dear Megido, am not being philosophical, but horological."

"How do you _know_ all these things?"

"I read." She took her dressing gown from one of the posters of her bed and pulled it on lazily. "Show me the Russians."

Equius Zahhak, the Russian mechanic's son, and his Belorussian companion Nepeta Leijon were calmly drinking tea in the drawing room, seated on an ornately patterned divan. The girl was in a long olive-colored Ottoman dress with gold embroidery and a beaded fringe. Strings of jewelry hung around her neck and dangled from her wrists, and there was a headdress of beads and stones adorning her forehead. The boy was in a simpler outfit; brown slacks, brown vest, white shirt.

"I thought you went to Russia?" Vriska sat facing them, a low table covered with biscuits and sweets on the floor in-between the two divans.

"And down to Turkey—to see how everything's going with the Ottoman Empire dissolved and all—and across the Mediterranean to Greece and Italy and then briefly to Portugal where we boarded a ship to get home," Nepeta explained, her big eyes bright with excitement. "I had wanted to go to Egypt too, you know, to see the site where the tomb they discovered a few years ago is located and learn about their ancient deities, particularly Sekhmet and Bastet, while we were actually _in_ the country, but we didn't have the time."

"Wait...you were on vacation?"

"Sort of? Half vacation, half work, right Equius?"

Equius nodded. Right, he wasn't much of a talker.

"But look what I got while we were in Turkey!" Nepeta stood up and twirled on one foot, the Turkish garment spinning around to her tempo. The hem of the dress lifted to reveal her white _şalvar _and black silken slippers. "Isn't it beautiful?"

"Did you walk through Brooklyn in those shoes?"

"Of course not! The pavement would ruin them. My boots are by the door." She sat back down, the big smile plastered to her face fading quickly. "I hate to go from a fun topic to a dull one, but there's a reason we've shown up at your house today. We're here about the Game, Vriska, which I have no doubt Kanaya's left you in the dark about because we're all worried your reaction will be..explosive."

"What game?"

"_The_ Game. Only Kanaya and Sollux know the rules, and they're going to explain them later today. Sixteen of us are designated to play it in New York. Half of us were chosen by...Equius, who chose us?"

"The Council of the Dawn."

"...Right. Them. Purrsonally—" she rolled the 'R' "—I don't know who they are, but they sound like scary guys. The Chamber of Dusk picked the other half. Sixteen other members played years ago in another city. I think it was—"

"Chicago."

"Are you sure? I thought it was London."

"Could be."

"Well it doesn't matter, anyway, we won't be seeing them for a long time. Each session has sixteen players, along with guides and helpers scattered along the way."

This sounded like a bad idea to Vriska. It sounded long and tedious and like it would disrupt her current mission. "Can I opt out?"

Nepeta shook her head with a sympathetic look. "We have to play, like it or not. They have a way of making us go through with it anyway."

"_What?!_"

"Vriska, I'm sorry, I know you—"

"I _refuse_."

"If we lose a player, the session is nulled!"

"So?"

"_So we fail and are punished. _All of us, _including_ you."

"_SO?_"

"It means you _die_."

That...ah...did not sound like a fun thing. It didn't sound realistic, but it certainly wasn't fun, or wouldn't be fun. Ugh. She was stuck.

"I hate you for this."

"It's not me, it's the higher ups."

Vriska grumbled a swear.

* * *

The Marquise called at nine-thirty.

"I want you to play."

"Mummy?"

"The Game. I want you to play it."

She hadn't used a pet name. Holy—

"What?"

"You can hear me properly, correct? I want you to play that goddamn Game. It's important. You _must_ come out victorious, understand?"

"Yes, mother."

"I will not be able to communicate with you directly while you are playing."

"What about the mission?"

"Continue that. Do well, I'll be watching."

_Click._

This was getting ridiculous. Her mother was ridiculous. This game was ridiculous.

* * *

**=== Be someone else.**

Your name is Terezi Pyrope, though your first name is traditionally spelled Terezie. It's a Czech variation of Teresa. You're named after a saint. Hah. That's rich. You consider yourself sort of pretty, with auburn hair and teal-blue eyes, but you don't care for girly things too much. You're extremely Czech; your dad's full and your mom is half Czech, half Ukrainian. Your mother's a rare female lawyer, and you hope to follow in her footsteps one day. You read a lot of crime novels and mysteries, primarily by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Agatha Christie. Back to jobs, your dad is a...actually, you don't know what he does. It's very complex and involves governments. He travels a lot, and your mom works red-eye hours, so you end up home alone a lot.

In fact, you were left home alone last night. You asked your date to stay home with you after dinner, but not for funny business reasons. You made him sleep downstairs to prevent any funny business. But you ended up having a creepy nightmarish premonition halfway through the night, and asked him to sleep closer. Aka next to you. But no funny business. Promise. You were a good girl, you swear.

* * *

Terezi awoke with the sun glaring through the windows. She stretched and immediately came into contact with someone. So this is what it was like to be Vriska.

"You all right, Tez?"

Her honey bea—erm, _Karkat_ was giving her a confused, concerned look. He remembered what happened the night before with the fort and the dragons.

"I'm fine." She reached out to stroke his messy platinum hair. It was soft, like fleece. "You just startled me is all."

"I startled _you?_ Pardon me Tez, but _you_ woke up first. You startled _me_."

"I forgot you were in my bed."

He snorted. "Did you forget who asked me to sleep next to you?"

"For a moment, I forgot you were even _here_."

"Thanks."

"No, I mean sleep is sometimes disorienting and I'm not used to waking up next to you."

"Is it unpleasant?"

"What? No, Karkat, stop. I like it. It's a nice change from waking up alone. I'd rather see your face first thing in the morning."

"And I yours." He leaned in to kiss her and drew back sharply. "_Fuck_."

"What? What's wrong?"

"_Gamzee. _Fucking hell. _I fucking forgot to tell Gamzee._ Shitfuck. Shit. Fuck."

"We can go now, can't we? We've got time."

"Barely." He tossed the sheets and nearly flew off the bed. "C'mon!"

"Wait." Terezi climbed out of bed much slower, not understanding his rush. They had more than an hour, they'd be fine. "Can I still get that kiss or no?"

"I—"

"I refuse to let you deny me one simple kiss."

Terezi could have sworn she saw his mouth briefly twitch into a smile. He lifted up her chin and brought his lips to her, sucking at her top lip and—oh hello there tongue action. So nice of you to drop in. Stay a while?

They broke apart gasping. She hadn't expected it to be so intense. According to Karkat's face, neither had he. "Wow. That was...not simple."

"I'm sorry. Was that bad?"

"No, it was—why haven't you done that before?"

"I didn't think we were that far along—"

"Didn't think we were that far along? _Didn't think we were that far along?_ Have you seen your neck recently? In fact, have you seen _my _neck? Or my left shoulder? It's still blood-red from you, by the way."

"Yeah but I—" He was blushing furiously. "I was drunk."

"_And?_"

"I thought I was pushing you too hard."

"Have we met? If you were, I would have punched you."

"I—yeah. Should we, erm, go?"

"We should."

* * *

Terezi was surprised when Kanaya opened the door of the Makara house. By the way Karkat's face morphed into a look of extreme confusion followed by rage, so was he. He looked like he could tear a puppy's throat out. Poor hypothetical puppy.

"What the hell."

"This looks bad," Kanaya said quietly and ran a hand through her frazzled hair.

"Correction, this looks _worse than bad_. What are you doing?"

"I spent the night."

One of Karkat's pale eyebrows shot up. Terezi had no idea what was going on. Karkat spent the night at her house a bunch of times before. And she used to be over at Vriska's daily. What was wrong with Kanaya at Gamzee's?

"_You spent the night._ Tell me, whose bed were you sleeping in?"

Kanaya turned poppy red but said nothing.

"Exactly."

Oh. _Oooohhhhhh._

"You didn't," Terezi breathed.

The poppy became a crimson.

"Kanaya, I can't. I physically can't." Karkat sighed loudly. "I _did _come to tell Gamzee, but I assume you beat me to it. We have to _go_, by the way."

Gamzee appeared in the door behind Kanaya. "We didn't do _that_, Karkat, just for the record."

"You haven't done that _yet_, you mean."

Gamzee grinned. "Never said we were going to, man. Now don't we have somewhere to be?"

* * *

**=== Switch to Future Kanaya.**

She's a little too mortified for you to be her at the moment. Like, a lot too mortified.

**=== Be someone who'll explain this game.**

It's Game with a capital G. But all right. I'll take you up on that.

Your name is Sollux Captor and you can't tie a tie properly. You're a Cockney kid who's too smart for his own good. Your dad is a naval captain and practically lives on the sea. But since your mother cannot work due to health reasons, you've had trouble finding enough for three people to eat. You didn't want to burden your father any more, so you hatched a plan with your mum to seek your fortune and help the family at the same time. You stowed away on a cargo ship traveling from London to Manhattan a few years ago. You were caught, of course, but earned your stay by explaining to the captain how to upgrade the navigation system without much effort and proceeding to do it within the hour. As if it wasn't obvious, you're good with machinery. Particularly steam-powered gizmos. You're not a fan of this new internal combustion engine skullduggery. It's all a fat load of hogwash. As mentioned earlier by Vriska, you have erratic, dirty blonde hair and a prominent case of _heterochromia iridum_, with one red eye and one blue eye. You're close friends with both Karkat—who you think is too shouty most of the time—and Aradia—who tends to be cute when embarrassed.

You are one of two individuals with knowledge of the Game, but you're not sure if you want to get up and talk about it. For one, that's not your thing. For another, people have a hard time understanding your accent. But Kanaya looks like a mess, so maybe just this once.

* * *

"Sollux. What even happened to your tie? These knots are ridiculous." Aradia—short, kind, small-breasted Aradia—was hovering over Sollux, attempting and failing to fix his tie. According to her, he had tied it _hopelessly_ wrong. So wrong, she wasn't sure if she could undo the mess he'd made. He was grateful for her help. Less grateful for the goosebumps that raced across his arms and the back of his neck each time she brushed against him lightly, but still grateful.

"I think I've almost got it," she said after the fifth minute. She was so close to him now. It was torturous. "What are you wearing, by the way? It looks formal."

"I thought it was simple. Not too flashy, not too dressy."

"You're wearing a white vest."

White vest, black dress shirt and slacks. "Wot's your point, love?"

"Your tie is a red and there's a blue handkerchief in your pocket."

"_And?_"

"You look nice is all."

He smiled that crooked smile he knew she loved. "Fanks, dove. I try some days."

"Ought to try all of the time. Should I change as well?"

"You looks like a 'ouse servant. I fink so, but it's up to you."

"Then I think I will. Wait here?"

"I'll wait 'til the end of time."

Aradia hurried away, her skirts swaying after her. He didn't think he'd mention how much he liked the way her dress fit her. She might not have a chest, but the girl had hips, and she knew how to swing them. Her long hair flitting wildly side-to-side behind her could attest to that.

She left him alone in one of the big stuffy rooms Vriska used to entertain her guests. It was filled with glass ornaments, tea sets, bone china, and myriad wine glasses and champagne flutes. It looked like an antique display, the early Victorian furniture only adding to the image. He would never have a room like this in his house. Too many breakable items. They'd only get destroyed by his experiments.

Aradia returned quickly in a simple white dress, a black overcoat tucked under one arm. She had tied her hair back and snuck a small, pretty pink pin into the long, thick coils. She smiled. "Ready."

* * *

There were more people at the docks than Sollux had originally imagined. To him, sixteen was just a number, not a head count. He knew quite a few faces, but there were some with whom he was unfamiliar.

"Am I speakin' or are you?" he asked Kanaya, eyes darting around the crowd.

"I am not sure if I can."

"Why ever not?"

"Not feeling mentally prepared."

"Well neivver am I!" He laughed nervously. "I'm less prepared than you, love. Quite last minute, now innit?"

"I apologize, I know it is. I just do not feel comfortable."

He sighed. It was a Nice Day. "Fine. Fine, I'lls do it."

He hated crowds. He hated people. He disliked people he didn't know. Why was he doing this? Couldn't they have picked a better first-in-command? "Erm, 'ello 'ello everyone. I doubt you all knows me, for I sure as sugar dun' know allayou. Name's Sollux, I'm in charge for Kanaya."

He hated semi-circles. Hated standing at the head of one because everyone shifted on their feet and was within his line of sight. No one knew what they were all here for. Oh dear.

"Right. So, this game. _The_ Game. Itsa test of wits, character, and skills. Once we enter, there's no goin' back. The world as we knows it will cease to exist for the time being."

"What exactly do you mean by that?" It was one of the few he didn't know, a large-chested girl standing next to a tall annoyed boy with angular features.

"I means we can't leave once our session goes and starts. We'll be trapped likes sheep in a pen."

"And when will it start?" That was Vriska, the cerulean girl. He wondered what she was doing here, with her notorious reputation at all. The two committees picked odd players.

"Dun' know. Could be later today, could be in a month. Eivver or, really. S'not up to me to know. Not up to anyone."

"Why were we chosen?" Vriska again.

"No clue. Nows shut your trap and listen, mkay? The world of the Game is not all much unlike our own. Somefings are different, somefings are th' same. There's anovver session attempin' to complete their run at the mo' insides the world, but th' likelihood of ground-running into thems is lower than low." Lies lies lies lies. He couldn't bring himself to say the truth.

"When did their game start?" That was Aradia.

"I dunno." More lies. The other session had begun years ago, but he wasn't keen on scaring everyone half to death on their first day. First lecture, even. They'd have plenty of time to be frightened out of their wits later.

"We're gonna be divided up inta groups. Th' smallest number will be two people. Eight groups of two, four groups of four, two groups of eight. And we each get—Nepeta?"

"Right, sorry!" The silly bushy-haired girl raced out of the circle and to one of the crates behind them. Equius, the large bloke with the silly glasses, went to help her open the doors.

Sollux watched as she snuck inside the pod, returning momentarily on top of a great beast.

It was an oversized feline, with two mouths and piercing green eyes. Sollux knew it to be metal in origin; there was no way a real creature like it existed. It was too large to live normally anywhere but possibly Australia. That, and the way it moved was somewhat unnatural. Its synthetic skin stretched across its mechanical muscles as it sauntered out. The glint of metal could be seen through its white pelt.

The crowd behind Sollux had a bunch of different reactions and he smirked, proud he knew what the beast was, feeling on the right end of an inside joke for once. "This," he started and turned to his audience, "is an in-game beast our lovely friends have managed to pull out of the system. It's a _Panthera Diorum_—_"_

"His name's Pounce de Leon."

"...Right."

"Question." Another girl he didn't know raised her hand. She had choppy blonde hair. "What is the objective of this game? And what does that thing _do?_"

"First off, I don't know what it does. Second, the objective is to win."

"Well, how'll it start?"

Sollux took a deep breath.

* * *

**=== Story: Get progressively darker.**

"First it'll begin wif th' injections."

It felt like venom was pulsing through Vriska's body. It came in waves of hot and cold, pain and numbness. Surging, twisting, searing. She couldn't speak, move, or open her eyes. She could barely hear and breathing was a chore. The injections were altering her body from the inside, changing it in order to play. She wasn't sure if it was a good idea anymore.

Her left eye kept bleeding and bleeding. She could feel the warm blood trickle down her face each time it changed its structure. The cells were dying and regenerating. Her eye felt like it was becoming something else. Something not her. It was by far the most extreme pain.

"Next is the testing and correction."

Sore and hazy, Vriska was brought into a laboratory. There were cages on the floor with strange animals inside, all manner of glowing liquids stored in cylindrical containers, machinery in large piles, and of course the entrance to a surgical theatre on the other side.

She was brought to the table. They checked her vitals, her one working eye, her ears, nose, and throat. Then came the gas mask. Too weak to fight back, it was forced on her face. She was out in seconds.

"Then there's the waking up."

Vriska was dizzy and semi-sedated upon waking up. There was bandaging over one eye. _It's to keep the incision site clean_, they had said, whoever they were. Everyone was a block of color, nothing looked right. Whether it was the drugs or her body, she couldn't tell.

The people she assumed to be doctors came back to remove the dressing. They said it was healed and she could open her eye now. She did. The world looked different. Clearer. And she could see them now.

She screamed.

"And then we get stuffed into the machine itself. The Game."

Vriska awoke in a wet stone tunnel. It was dark, so dark, but she could see through it with the aid of her left eye, which she still hadn't gotten used to. The outlines of objects became clearer as the minutes passed. She arose with a satchel in one hand and instructions in the other: _Find your way out and begin. The other players are allies or enemies, but it is up for you to decide. Get a partner and stick with them, or else you'll be eliminated._

* * *

"This is ridiculous," Vriska muttered to herself in the dark. There was no one she could see in the area. She had found some items a ways back: a lantern, oil, matches, a bucket, an axe, and a hammer; all useless. She didn't need to light her path and draw attention to herself if she could see. What would she do with a bucket? And the hammer and axe were heavy and difficult to drag around.

She'd been wandering the same tunnels with the same glowing green walls. Well, the walls weren't glowing themselves, but the fungi growing on the damp bedrock were luminescent. At one point she thought she saw a bloodstain on the dark rocks.

After making aimless circles for what felt like hours, she caught sight of a faint light and raced after it, hoping it would be an exit from this madness. As she got closer, the light barely grew larger until she was almost in front of it.

"Vriska?"

It was Aradia.

"Oh thank _god_ I've found someone!" She tried to hug the other girl, but Aradia backed up, holding the lantern out in front of her. "What's wrong?"

"How can I be sure you're the _actual_ Vriska?"

"Aradia, what do you mean? I'm me. Don't I look like me?"

"You do, but I can't be sure. You had a collection of insects when you were younger. One was called The Mistress. What was it?"

"You _remember_ that?'

"What was it."

"It was a spider. A big one, larger than my six-year-old fist."

Aradia let out a breath. "Oh thank the lord it _is_ you."

"Why wouldn't it be me?"

"I've seen apparitions ever since that—_that_ time. They take all forms, they cry and moan and beg. And it's _terrifying_."

"Apparitions?"

"I can see the dead, Vriska. I saw my father."

Vriska hadn't a reply.

"And then you appeared not carrying a light source and I wasn't sure what to expect. How can you _see_ down here?"

"I...they altered my eye. I can see a lot of weird things now."

"I don't feel safe here. We need to get out."

There was a crash from somewhere behind the two girls, followed by a shriek like nails on metal.

Vriska dared to turn her head, but could see nothing.

Nothing but two white, soulless eyes.

She took Aradia's arm and dragged her forward, running as fast as her legs would allow.

Chains rattled from behind as lumbering footsteps made their way down the corridor, nearing the two.

"Turn the light out _turn the light out!_" Vriska cried. She could see, they didn't need the _thing_ chasing them to be able to see the light. To track them better. Aradia closed the trap and suffocated the flame.

Turns out she couldn't see well at all. The fungi on the walls had been aiding her the whole time, and they weren't present in this tunnel. She was blinded by darkness, the cries from the approaching _thing_ clouding the rest of her senses.

They took a turn where the darkness faded, zigzagging across the tunnels, vaulting over rocks and scrambling down narrow passages. All the while the monster behind loomed, getting ever closer.

_I can hear them I can hear them,_ Aradia kept whispering. _The dead. They couldn't escape, they didn't make it._

But they would. Vriska would make sure of it. She wasn't about to succumb to that _thing_. She wouldn't she wouldn't she—

She found a door. Pulling it open, the two rushed inside, dead-bolted it, and kept running. Lungs on fire but at no loss of adrenaline, they managed to continue through the twists and turns. It wasn't until they had four great steel doors between them and the _thing_ that they collapsed in hopeful safety.

"They're everywhere," Aradia moaned. "They keep crying. One's lost her child. I can't take their voices much longer. I can't, I can't—"

Aradia broke, tears falling from her eyes. And Vriska could see them, all of them. The spirits of the dead and dammed, all hovering over the frightened girl, begging and pleading and crying. Their faces where ghastly, ripped and mutilated. Some had incomplete bodies, others had metal and wood sticking out of their flesh.

She backed up against the wall. These poor souls—

The faint sound of breaking metal echoed in the chamber. There was no other door in this room, with the only exit facing the _thing_.

The spirits disappeared as Aradia stood, a dull look capturing her eyes.

"What are you—"

She turned to the back wall. "_Not today."_

Flicking her wrist, the stones broke and crumbled, shaking to the ground. A makeshift exit was formed from the crack in the wall.

They scrambled through to a room with faintly burning lanterns on the walls. Aradia began to re-patch the wall as Vriska analyzed the contents of the small space in the semi-darkness. There were stains on the walls of questionable origins. Some were dark and grim, others bright and splattered. There was a dusty journal atop a wooden desk rotten with age. The pages were browned and the ink was a dull, faded color. Her curiosity winning, Vriska took a look.

_December 17, 1878_

_I don't know what is going on here anymore, or what has happened to the surface world. People keep disappearing with every waking hour. The children cannot sleep and no one is able to close both eyes. We are running low on supplies now, and there will not be enough food to survive us the winter. _

_There is no chance of seeking a pathway to the outside, the area beyond the castle walls, as the Lemures are on full patrol. They seem to have multiplied since the first sighting. Some of our best men have been taken by them, hauled deep into the caverns. No one will brave the trek down. No one is certain if they are alive or dead. Their leader lies at the bottom, the Noir. Where he sleeps the chains rattle and his breath shakes the walls. Those who have approached his chambers and lived are not the same. They mutter things now, terrible things._

_For us I fear there is no escape._

She felt her stomach drop, the pounding fear of this Noir rising into her chest. What had happened to her life, why was this happening? But the journal...she could use this. Maybe there'd be clarity somewhere on its pages.

"We need to keep moving or it'll return," Aradia said calmly, her tone monotonous.

"I don't think we're going to make it out of here alive." Her throat closed around the words.

"We have to try."

Aradia took Vriska by the hand and led her out of the small room. There were bottles of liquid in the next chamber. Some were old and congealed, others held objects that Vriska did not want to recognize. Stairs on the far side led up to a wooden door. They hurried, covering surface area as quickly as possible. Who knew what lurked in the wide, dark room, and those who found out were unlikely to survive.

Aradia forced the door open with her hand in a similar manner to the way she destroyed the wall. Upstairs there was light, faint and unnatural. The area sent shivers down her spine as Vriska wandered the wide stone hall. It looked like a room in an old Great House, with a worn, torn, tattered carpet and ceiling-high windows. The outside was bleak and foggy, the sound of rain the only clue to the world beyond the glass. It was cold in the long room, and Vriska could feel her bones freeze through her light clothing.

"There are fresh footsteps on the floor," Aradia noted, pointing to two sets of wet tracks. They looked normal enough, with shoe imprints. The spacing suggested the pair was running. Running from what...?

"They continue down here," Vriska said, following the prints at a brisk, jostled pace. They disappeared into a room with a rotted door. Did she dare open it?

She did.

Twisting the knob slowly, Vriska pushed the door open. It creaked and groaned with age and lack of use. It had been years since anyone had traveled these corridors.

A blade was aimed at her neck the moment the door opened fully. She and her attacker gasped in surprise.

"Oh my god," Sollux breathed. "I f'ought we were dead men walkin'."

"I thought I was a dead woman standing."

Aradia appeared behind Vriska. "No monsters in here?"

"None right now, no," said Tavros, who was perched high on a desk with a heavy axe in his hands. They had obviously expected an intruder of a sinister nature.

"Come in an' close the door. Dun' want the ruddy bastards to knows where we are, now does we?"

The girls entered to form a party of four. Aradia broke as soon as the door was locked, burying herself in Sollux's arms. "I can't do this," she sobbed. "I can't make them go away. I keep trying and trying but nothing works. I'm trapped with them."

"Wif wot, love?" He hugged her tightly, looking completely confused.

"_The dead_." She looked up at him. "They're following me. They're here now, but only I can see them."

"I fink the darkness is gettin' to your 'ead."

"No, I saw them too." Vriska didn't want to recall the images, but they flew at her anyway. "It was...chilling."

"No wonder they calls this beastie a mind scream," Sollux said and sighed. "The last session didn't make it out."

"_What?"_ Tavros, still on the desk, lowered his weapon. "Then where are they?"

"Still here, I s'pose. Trapped in this realm of fog and darkness. If you can't win, you never return to the world you left."

"Then _why_ are we playing?"

"We're not playing, it's playing us. And because it was all or none. They'd kill us all if one dropped out."

"So we're trapped?"

"Essentially." Sollux stroked Aradia's hair. "I feel bad for whoever finds the Makara boy. The darkness isn't natural."

"Oh my _god_." Tavros sat down. "He's going to kill _everyone_."

"Aye, if the monsters don't get us first. I only hopes 'e's got Karkat or Kanaya by 'im. They seems to control th' great brute quite well."

"Are we confined to this castle?" Vriska wandered closer to Tavros, feeling somewhat alone in the room of people.

"No. There's a village down the way. I doubt we'll find any occupants, they've been dead for years. I fink that's who you're seeing, love. The villagers."

"If this is a game," Vriska sat beside Tavros, "what's the objective?"

"To win. To beat the boss and make it out alive. Though what the boss is—"

"The Noir. It's called the Noir. It lives in the cellars."

"'Ow do you—"

"There was a book downstairs, a journal of sorts." She removed it from a pocket of the leather bag slung on her back. Flipping through, she found most of the pages torn out. Some help. Locating the correct page, she read the entry out loud.

"Somefing dark an' sinister's 'appened, all right." Sollux brought Aradia to a chair, setting her down carefully. "I guess it's up to us to find out what and set it right."

"Don't you know more about this Game than anyone else?" Tavros asked.

Sollux nodded. "Me an' Kanaya. I don't know everyfing, mind, as that'd be cheatin'. I don't know where we are, how we got 'ere, wot's going on outside, or downstairs even, what we're s'posed to do, or how. I figure we can die permanently in it, and that this place isn't anywhere on the map. I don't even know the date. I do know we have to survive, and that winning is the only way to do so."

"Can there be multiple endings? Or is they only one way to play?" asked Vriska.

"There might be more than one ending, but I can promise you now the others won't be good."

"We're stuck," Tavros murmured. "We're actually stuck. Trapped. Does anyone know?'

"My mum does." Vriska took his hand. "We'll get out of this somehow."

"What is the game called, Sollux?" Aradia's voice was weak, her mental state unbalanced.

"It's called Eschaton."

* * *

**A/N: **Ahahaha, wasn't that dark? We're _finally_ getting to the plot here.

**There will still be shipping, no worries there. The story just got darker is all.**

So. Uh. Sorry about the mood whiplash. The story writes itself, I just do the bidding.  
This is like a more sinister, scarier version of Homestuck, with a dash of survival horror :D (You all totally hate me it's okay). I find it interesting that I've got the Steampunk horror story while Natural Selection's got the Cyberpunk mutation one (which you should go read if you haven't already).

Mine will be much more frightening. I'm going to go change the genre now.

**Guys don't forget to look up the Latin & Greek words that appear, they're important.****  
**

I hit 50 reviews last chapter—the counter's broken, there are ten more than it says—(EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!) and I'd love to hug each and every one of you, especially if you stick with me after this chapter. Love you all, you're all wonderful people, and feel free to pick apart my grammar and spelling like bananas.

* * *

**Time for Anon Review Responses!**

**Guest:  
**Oh my gosh yay I'm so happy you like it! I'm actually a quarterway done with the next chapter already...hehehe.

**TheSeamstress:**  
I've never read the Hunger Games, so I'd have a hard time emulating it. Aww yeaah surprise twist! Thank you so much! I'm so glad you like it!  
That's pretty much what I was going for. Obviously this'll have an alteration of Homestuck's plot/events and by extension more supernatural occurrences and creepy monsters, but that's the sort of atmosphere I was aiming for. So woo!

**Bull boy:**  
I would in all honesty LOVE having more of the main ship, but I have to build it or else it gets paced wrong and unrealistic and BLAH. And I'd rather it not be blah. I WILL however make it up to all of you when it's built correctly and shiny and perfect, but at the moment throwing it in would cause the whole thing to curdle and sour. **  
**


	10. Amentia

**=== Eridan: Find Feferi**

It was pitch-black when Eridan came to his senses. Pitch-black and _wet_. The tunnels where he found himself all led to a large water source; an underground lake with channels leading to and away from it scattered in the area. It was swollen with dark water, the shore under several feet of liquid. The rains had been heavy this season, and some pathways were flooded with murky, foul-smelling water.

He was half-tempted to jump into one of the pools to test his new gills, but the better half of his judgment kept seeing shadows below the surface. They would vanish the moment he got a lantern over them, but nonetheless, it wasn't a smart idea. He let his eyes adjust to the misty darkness, trying not to light the lantern with the precious oil he'd obtained. Who knew when he'd have a good use for it later.

Eridan, like Rose, was genre savvy.

While exploring one of the many unblocked paths, he came across a multitude of odd items: a collection of powdered substances in jars, screwdrivers, bullets for a nineteenth century weapon, valves for some contraption, a crowbar, and a coil of rope. None of these things seemed _particularly _useful, but he took a few just in case.

Ransacking an office, he came across a map and a log written over forty years ago. It read:

_November 6, 1876_

_ The winter is harsh again, but we've trudged on, nearing the castle. It is the only shelter for miles, as the village down the mountain is abandoned. I personally will go to the owner, the Duke of Bavaria, for help, as his father was an old friend of my father's. He is capricious in nature, and I fear if I allow anyone else to approach him, we may not have luck in securing a safe place to camp through the winter._

_ I can only hope he has returned from his voyages at sea, otherwise I am unsure of how to proceed. We have a party of sixteen and not nearly enough supplies to last us a trek through the mountains. I hope for the best, and that the tides of fate will smile upon us._

It was signed, but the name was smudged. He could only make out the A at the end.

Oh. That was...what was this _doing_ down here? Eridan bit his lip and added the tattered, old note to the back of a journal he'd discovered in one of the desk drawers. It might come in handy. Maybe the others were finding odd notes of their own. They could make a stack of them in chronological order and figure out what was going on.

A light flickered through the bottom of the door and Eridan froze. What was...He vaulted over the desk and crouched low, able to see through a crack at the bottom from his awkward hiding spot. If it was some monster, he was dead. There was no weapon on him to speak of, let alone use. Crowbars were great fun, sure, but useless against the undead. And bullets needed guns, which he did not have.

The door creaked open and in walked a pair of very familiar shoes. He exhaled loudly in relief, startling the wearer.

"_HOLY SHIT!_" she screeched, backing up and tripping over a fallen chair.

"Fef," Eridan started, slowly rising from his hiding spot, "have you _any _idea a how to play these things? Any at all?"

"Ohmigod Eridan. I am going to _kill you_. Do you know how _frightened _I was about getting eaten a moment ago?"

"And there's still a chance if you don't _be quiet_. They can hear us."

Oh, right on cue. There were the chains again, rattling in the hall.

"Quickly. You need to cross the room quickly," Eridan said barely above a whisper.

Feferi, eyes wide as sauce pans, sprang up and sprinted to the desk. She dove around it and somehow managed to fit herself in the small hollow along with Eridan.

Neither of them took a breath as the clanking of metal cuffs passed the room.

It was the laughing that caused Eridan's nerves to drive themselves off a cliff. Unnerving. So unnerving, he had taken Feferi's hands in his own. Or maybe she took his? She looked equally horrified.

"We need to get out of this basement," she said after the thing passed. "I found a way up earlier but I was looking for you. We should leave before it comes back."

* * *

**=== Karkat: Wander.**

It was thundering outside the castle, the wind whipping at the windows and howling through the cracks in the walls. Up on the second floor, Karkat felt unsteady.

Terezi had found him before he woke up, and located one of the staircases in no time. Her senses had been heightened by the injections, but she refused to say how. He wasn't going to press on the matter any harder.

Kanaya had run into them on the first floor, a rusty metal pipe in her hands. She had been following a trail of destruction that she assumed went to the third floor, but hadn't gotten time to check it out yet.

"So what are we doing?" Terezi asked as they trekked across a destroyed corridor.

"Clown hunting," Kanaya spit. She was leading, as she was the only one with a sense of direction in this maze of a castle. "That _idiot_ is upstairs somewhere, and we have to find him."

"What happens if we don't?"

"One of two things. Either he will kill everyone or he will be eliminated."

"How's he in a fit _now?_" Karkat was confused. Gamzee only went fully crazy under the full moon.

"The darkness is unnatural. Things live in it, hide in it. They feed off sanity. The longer you go in the dark, the more humanity you lose."

"I don't like this game."

"Oh, come on, Karkar, it's not _so_ bad."

Karkat took Terezi's hand, more for his security than hers. "It's terrible, Tez. There were—there were _things_ down there. Horrible things."

"Did you _see_ them?"

"I heard them, but I couldn't look. Did you?"

She shook her head. "Kanaya?"

"You only see them if they want you to see them. There is all manner of once-living creatures down there."

"And the ones causing Gamzee to go insane?"

"Lemures. Beings that live in the darkness with no true physical forms. They take all different shapes from the things they...corrupt."

"And the ones we heard?"

"I—I do not know. I thought I knew _most_ of the things that lurked in the cellars, but I guess I do not. Sollux learned the technology, and I, the environment. For instance, I know the monster causing everything lives deep in the bowls of the castle, far below ground, but only Sollux can devise a way to get there."

Kanaya turned a corner and hurried immediately back, pushing Terezi and Karkat into an open door before locking it tightly, standing in front of them, clutching her rusted pipe.

"It will not do much good," she explained in a hushed voice. "These things are dead, they cannot die twice."

_Great_. That made him feel a million times better. Karkat put himself in front of Terezi. If that thing managed to mow down Kanaya, he'd go next. Nothing would get to Tez. He wouldn't allow it.

"I can defend myself," Terezi said in a whisper, annoyed.

"I know you can."

"Then why go in front?"

"Because I _want _to protect you, not because I _can_ protect you. You could do a better job of saving my ass than I ever could of yours."

"Do you _want_ it to hear us?" Kanaya hissed.

There was a noise at the door. The three occupants leapt backwards and dove behind furniture, trying to disappear. A key turned in the lock and two people scrambled in, shut the door, and re-locked it.

"Oh hey Karkat, Kanaya, girl I don't know, nice to see you."

It was John and Rose. Rose made a beeline to one of the bookshelves behind them. "Do you _want _to get ripped to pieces? Help me out."

Kanaya, Karkat, and Terezi stood, confused, as the two new party members began to pull volumes off the shelves at random.

"What are you—"

"It's a horror game, right? Guess what's always in studies of big creepy houses in detective novels?"

"Secret passages!" Terezi said with a smile. She joined John and Rose as Kanaya and Karkat shared a look.

Rose managed to pull the right book out when the sound of dragging chains grew louder. The five hurried furiously through the new opening in the wall and shut it tightly, scurrying down a new passage and ending up in a grander, weirder room.

Chemistry sets took up the majority of the countertops and books of detailed alchemical processes lay open next to old burners and on the master desk in the back of the room. Some of the beakers still contained chemicals and concoctions, others were clean as whistles. The whole place smelled of stale air and mildew.

"This is..." John trailed off.

"Fantastic," Rose finished. She was flipping through one of the thick tomes on the mahogany desk. "There are entries in here, notes scribbled in the margins. It's marked up about not just the processes, but what the compounds were used for and how. John, this is exactly what I was looking for."

John wrapped an arm around Rose's waist and read over her shoulder. "D'you think we'll need any more, or will this do it?"

"I think this should be good."

Kanaya coughed. "What are you two doing?"

"Rosey's got a brilliant idea," John informed her with a goofy smile. "It involves chemistry."

"There's a door that leads to the west wing that I cannot get through. It's covered in biological material and I plan on burning through it."

"Biological material?"

"_Burning?_"

Rose nodded. "See, the castle is _alive_. It changes, it twists, and it breathes. John and I were traveling a corridor earlier and the door at the end of the hall moved six feet to the left. Right in front of our eyes. It opened over the forest floor. That was either the castle changing or very poor planning."

"The Curse of Castle Wahnsinn," Kanaya muttered.

There was a collective "_What?"_

"It is an old Austrian tale. Travelers spend the night at an old castle only to discover it's alive and they go insane."

"And this relates because?" asked Karkat.

"This is that very castle. It wasn't a folktale, it was a recount of history. If we do not get out and to the village soon, I fear we may _all_ go mad, not just Gamzee. Speaking of whom, I should go find him."

* * *

**=== Kanaya: Go Clown Hunting.**

Don't mind if you do. You've got a serious score to settle with that asswi—erm, _lovely_ gentleman friend of yours.

* * *

Kanaya trudged down a new hallway, useless pipe gripped firmly in both hands. She didn't have time for this, she needed to find a new partner soon or she'd be eliminated. But there were sixteen players and it was unlikely there was anyone but Gamzee left.

Nothing sprang out at her as she ascended the stairs to the third floor. It seemed the monsters were afraid of her vicious, twisting anger. They could come if they wanted, she'd just bludgeon them to second-death and continue forward. She was determined, and nothing, _nothing_ would stop her.

She heard the laughter before she spotted him.

Crouched on a tall statue of a sea-goat, Gamzee grinned down at her, his teeth pointed and horrible. The injections hadn't helped with his sanity at all; his nails looked more pointed and he was on all fours, poised like a jungle cat about to lunge.

"_Kanaayyaa," _he purred, leering at her.

"What." There was venom in her voice.

"Don't you want to _play_ Kanaya? Play a game with me, please?"

"I am not playing any games with you."

"We played one earlier though. Remember? It involved things that made Karkat squeamish." He leaped down from his perch, landing a few feet from her. His height only increased his level of intimidation. But Kanaya didn't break, the anger never stopped flowing through her.

"We are not playing that."

"Why ever, _ever_ not?" He closed the distance in a beat, pressing her up against a wall. His eyes were dark, his pupils were fully dilated, and his breath was warm and sweet on her face. "They don't like me, the shadows. Think I'm scary. I've heard them muttering. They think they're _SO QUIET!_" His head whipped around, directing his words towards some corner where invisible beings lurked. "Not even in the cellars. Didn't chase me. I felt so _left out_."

"Why would you _want_ them to chase you?"

"Because it's all a game, Kanaya. All a lovely, sweet little game. What good is playing from the beginning if you have all the additions? All the best items?"

"Being insane is a good item?"

He barked a laugh, sharp and shattering. "Whatever keeps the boogeyman away is like water for a fish. Speaking of fish, guess who I saw."

"No, please tell me you left them alone."

"Of course I did. After _scaring_ them half to death."

She glared.

"I'm sorry, love," he said softly, a thumb stroking her cheek. "I made you upset. I always make you upset." He kissed her forehead. "Will you forgive me?"

"I—"

"_Please?_" He kissed her gently, a hand lightly stroking her hair.

Oh, she _hated_ him for this. This—this—this _capriciousness. _Mad as a hatter one moment, soft as butter the next. And she hated these butterfly kisses, and his hand through her hair, hated the other hand grabbing at her bottom as he—

No, no, she liked _this_ kiss. The biting, scratching kind that buried his tongue deep in her mouth. The one where she could taste blood as his teeth scraped her lips, making them raw and swollen. The darker one, filled with motives and lust. A kiss of lunacy.

"W-what about the creatures?" Kanaya asked when they broke apart for air.

"They won't come near me, my love. I will keep you safe from them."

"What about you? Am I safe from you?"

He grinned, slipping his hands into her dress and cupping her breasts. They fit perfectly into his hands, soft and round. He squeezed until she let out a moan of pain and pleasure.

"You will never be safe from me."

* * *

**=== Tavros: Attempt to chat up the girl.**

You're not very good at that, and that will be hard given the circumstances.

Eh. You'll give it a shot.

* * *

Aradia had passed out not long after meeting up with Sollux and Tavros. They needed to patrol the area. With the partner rule still in effect, Sollux opted to stay behind and watch her if Tavros and Vriska scouted out the area.

He gave Tavros a wink when they left, and he hadn't the slightest idea how Sollux had found out.

"This place is too big," Vriska muttered as they paced around one of the dark corridors, a torch burning slowly in one hand. She seemed upset in a venomous way, like a python poised to strike. Tavros was unsure of what to say.

"I mean, look at it," she continued. "We're on the first floor and have passed two libraries, a sketchy door leading down to the kitchens, several creepy studies, and a dinning hall. With a _dumbwaiter _for chrissake. _My_ house didn't even have a dumbwaiter."

"Did you live in a Great House?"

She rolled her eyes. Clearly that was not the correct question. "You've been in it. Did it look like one?"

"It—"

"No, it was just a mansion. The Peixes girl lives in a Great House. They've got extravagant gardens and a fountain _inside_ the house."

"Inside?"

"Inside. Bizarrchitecture, that place. Like this place. Was that door there before?"

She pointed to an immaculate-looking white wood door with gold detail. Its knob was polished and pristine. Something felt...off about it.

"Do we open it?"

Vriska shrugged. "Why not?"

"Because there could be something in there that wants to _kill us?_"

"Any other good reasons?"

"Vriska!"

"Oh come on, what are the chances? I haven't heard anything since I was in the basements. Have you?"

"No, but—"

"But nothing. C'mon, we're gonna open the door."

"We're not going to open the door we're not going to open the door we're not going to—"

"Stop being such a sissy and get over here."

He couldn't refuse her. He couldn't refuse the temptation that _was_ her. He looked utterly pathetic right about now, and this wasn't helping his chances with the girl. _Man up, Tavros._

He stood in front of the door with her, each of them with a hand on the handle. "On the count of three. One—"

"THREE!" Vriska yanked the door open and it slammed into the wall.

The room was dark aside from two orange—

"_SHIT SHIT SHIT THOSE ARE EYES HOLY GOD RUN RUN RUN RUN."_

Tavros took Vriska's hand and booked it, dragging her down the long hall and back to—

"_It's going to follow us you idiot don't lead it back!"_

_ "What do I do then what do what—oh my god oh god—"_

Vriska, her head more leveled, swung them in a new direction, taking the lead and pulling him down a new hallway.

Dead end. That's it. Game over. He couldn't look. They were dead, they were dead, they were—

Vriska was laughing.

Tavros opened an eye.

There was a small, bull-like creature on the carpet in front of them. It had little pixie wings and its metal skin shone through its fine white coat. It looked harmless.

Tavros started laughing. This was ridiculous. They were running from one of the guide-things that never got explained. He had been frightened of _that_. How was that even possible?

He glanced over at Vriska, who's face was still in a giggle-induced smile. It was one of the happiest expressions he'd ever seen her wear. One of the most beautiful, too.

"Can you believe it?" she asked in between bouts of laughter. "Can you _actually_ believe we were running from _that?"_

"Not easily. Could it get more ridiculous?"

"It can, and it will. Stick around for the stupidity." She grinned. "I mean, look." Vriska held up her hand, which was still tangled with his. "This shouldn't happen so easily. You have to work for this."

"Work for your hand?"

"In a way, yes," she teased. "But on a serious note, thanks for trying to save me from...that." She suffered another wave of laughter.

"What are we going to do with it?"

"I have an idea."

* * *

Sollux nearly threw a chair at the door when the little bull creature wandered in. He swore loud enough to wake up Aradia, who was confused and dazed beyond belief. She promptly went back to bed when Sollux was done cursing out Tavros and Vriska.

Vriska had dubbed them "Team Fuck Shit Up" after devising their prank. _"You need to live a little more,"_ she had said to him. _"Stick with me, I'm gong to show you what it's like to break the rules. Of both society and this game."_

And he agreed. If that's what it took to hold her hand, then he'd do it, he'd fuck shit up with her. They would fuck up all of the shit if that granted him the key to her heart. Or wherever the key went.

Rule number one was Don't be a Pansy. Rule number two was Tavros You're Still Being a Pansy, Stop it.

Sollux didn't stop glaring at them for ten minutes.

"Wot was even th' point?"

"To see your face?" Vriska tried to hide a smile.

"Ah. Right. Me face is entertaining enough by isself."

"How's Aradia doing?" Tavros asked, changing the subject.

Sollux jerked his head. "'Ow're yer 'ands doin'?"

Vriska and Tavros snatched their hands back, both blushing and embarrassed.

"I ain't gonna go 'round knockin' an' bleatin' about _that_, but watch where we are, mkay? It's a dangerous place out there, and I dun' want anyone or anyfing to go missing. Got it?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now don't go snog behind some pillar unless you wants the monsters to gobble you up like seasoned ham on Christmas."

_"What?"_ gasped Vriska, embarrassed. "We don't have _that_ kind of a relationship!"

"_Yet,_" Sollux corrected with a sly grin. "People do mad fings in mad circumstances."

"You and my maid?"

"Are none of your business. Don't you 'ave some corridors to stalk down or somefing?"

"We might."

"Then _get_. I'll finds out wot's wif the bull when you're gone. Don't let the Makara boy bite."

"We'll try not to."

As soon as they left the room, Tavros reclaimed Vriska's hand, smiling like a loony. "I'm sorry we didn't get that second date."

"Me too. But, I bet we can find a way to make up for it, right?"

"Right. Did you have anything in mind?"

"I saw a ballroom back when we were wandering..."

"But there's no music."

"I bet we can find a solution. C'mon, it's not that far. Sollux won't miss us."

* * *

**=== John: Assist Rose.**

"What exactly is it that we're looking for, Rose?"

They were outside the door to the stairs that led down to the laboratory in the cellars. Rose was visibly nervous about the trek. John wasn't, but was still worried for Rose. She knew what she was doing more than he, but still she got nervous.

"In most cases I'd say we would only need hydrochloric acid, but I doubt we'll find any. I am not excited to make it."

"Because it's hard to make?"

"Because it's extremely corrosive and if I mess it up it could eat through my flesh. It is far from the top of my to do list."

"Well what should I be on the lookout for?"

"Vitriol and salt."

"...What is vitriol?"

"Sulfuric acid. Clear, smells horrible, burns through clothing. Run-of-the-mill acid."

John knew nothing of chemistry. He was the business major. "...Rose, I don't think I'll be of any help."

"I figured. Follow me, then."

She yanked the old door open with her free hand. Lantern high over her head, she entered the lab. John kept close, a plank of wood clutched in his hands. It wouldn't help much, but it couldn't hurt.

The lab was dark, but not as dark as the caves. There was faint light pouring in through windows near the ceiling. The counters were covered in cobwebs. The whole place had a desolate, abandoned air to it, with the smell of decay ravaging John's nostrils. It was somewhat depressing, not to mention sinister.

"Careful, there's broken glass at the bottom of the staircase."

John stepped around a pile of shards that was once a bottle, the contents leaking all over the floor. It was still wet, and whatever had been in the bottle was lying on the bottom step, organic and rubbery. The spill looked fresh.

John gulped. "I don't particularly like this place."

"Nor do I. Let's be quick and get out of here."

The floorboards creaked under their feet, moaning in an eerie symphony. There were all sorts of beakers and test tubes strewn about, ranging in size from quite small to obscenely large. The amount of knives was making John uncomfortable. If this was a kitchen, it'd be understandable, but this was overdoing it. A few blades were slick with a dark, slippery substance.

"I've found a chemical cabinet," Rose whispered in the darkness.

"Oh joy. Now we can get out of here faster."

"Not exactly," she muttered, taking out all sorts of bottles and containers, containing mixtures of every color and density. "Aqua Fortis, Spirit of Hartshorn, Aqua Tofani, King's Yellow, Flowers of Antimony, _dammit!_" Rose made a gurgling, frustrated sound. "These are all _alchemical _substances."

"...You need to help me out, you're the chem major. I work in business, remember?"

"Alchemy was a debunked science that stemmed from early Chinese medicine and found its way to the Islamic empires and into Medieval Europe. It's a completely bogus predecessor of Chemistry that wanted to turn lead into gold and create an elixir that would give the drinker eternal life. Hence, it is utterly _useless_."

"So it was magic?"

"No, just faulty science. Any type of sufficiently analyzed magic is science. But alchemy was bad magic and bad science."

"So we're screwed?"

"Help me find something called Spirit of Salt_. _We're going to use the Aqua Fortis to make Aqua Regia."

"What."

"Find me hydrochloric acid, I am going to mix it with the Aqua Fortis—nitric acid—and burn a hole in that stupid goddamn _door_."

She was pissed. Oh dear. "I thought you said we wouldn't find any hydrochloric acid?"

"That was before we ventured into an alchemical lab. Hurry, I don't like this darkness and we are wasting oil."

John ducked down to open cupboards, his own lantern out and burning. There were all types of creepy things tucked down there. Skeletons of...not-human humans, powders, jars of—oh ew those were eyes, scales, bags of things he wasn't going to open, and a wide assortment of strange implements. While he rummaged, he could hear Rose chanting _I am a chemist, this is not an issue. I can do this, I am a chemist._

She was cracking. This darkness was actually cracking the thick shell that was Rose. John liked this place less and less with every second. He wasn't keen on seeing what would happen to his strong, beautiful Rose after an hour passed. Something horrible, no doubt.

"_Got it!_" Across the room, Rose held up a large, clear jug of acid.

Oh thank god. Now they could leave—

There was a clanging at the door on the far end of the room. Rose whipped her lantern out in front of her as John hurried across the room. She wanted to fight, he wanted to flee.

"Wait a moment." Rose neared the door. "I hear voices."

"You _what?_"

She gestured John forward.

"Shit! It's locked!"

"Aww fuck. We're gone. We're so gone. We're more gone than my grandma at Easter dinner. Do you understand how gone that is?"

"Yes! Can we break it down?"

There was a muffled roar from somewhere behind the door.

"Answer: not fast enough."

John and Rose glanced at each other. Those two were—

John fiddled with the lock and quickly opened the door.

Dave and Jade, horrified and stunned, stood behind.

"Get in, _now_," Rose commanded.

"Don't need to tell me twice," Dave said as he took Jade's hand and pulled her towards the staircase on the other side of the room. John and Rose locked the door and followed at breakneck speed.

"We're going to need to barricade the door!" John called as they neared the top of the stairs.

"Way ahead of you!" Dave was behind one side of a large marble pedestal.

Rose scrambled out and re-locked the laboratory door—not that it would do much good—as John helped move the heavy stone into place. It would hold...for a little while.

"Back to the study!" Rose cried and began sprinting down the hall to the second-floor staircase.

"Dude, what the _hell_ is up with this place?" Dave asked as they followed at a somewhat slower pace.

"It's a big evil mess?"

"The castle's fuckin' alive, John. Jade and I were traipsing around downstairs and a whole wall disappeared into thin air. If I'm not high, I'm not sure _what's _going down."

"I know. A door moved on me and Rose earlier."

"I don't want to go back downstairs anytime soon," Jade added. "It's unnatural."

"Stick with us, then. Rose wants to blast a hole through some door on the third floor."

"Blast a hole in a door. You've got some weird kinks, my friend."

John elbowed Dave. "There's some bizarre organic thing blocking one of the wings. Rose is going to chemistry it to death. That was the whole reason we were down in the lab in the first place."

"And _man_ was that lucky for us. We were almost monster chow."

"So we heard. Did you get a good look at it?"

Jade shook her head. "Not at all. All I saw was a pale white form, almost human. But something was wrong about it. Like it wasn't built right."

Rose, who was waiting at the stairs, raised an eyebrow. "What kind of not built right?"

"It walked funny. I could hear three footsteps in place of two. And its form was all hunched and twisted."

John watched as Rose's eyes widened and her face shifted into a rare look of horror. "Lord Christ in Heaven."

John took her hands. "What's wrong?"

"Those were—oh _God_ I've never wanted to be so wrong before."

"Rosey?"

"Alchemy. A laboratory filled with chemicals and skulls and body parts. Chalk _everywhere._ The moaning in the basement. The human-like _things_." She swallowed loudly. "I believe there are—there are failed homunculi in the cellars."

* * *

**=== Nepeta: Be a Badass.**

The cellars weren't unpleasant.

Well, they weren't her _babushka's_ house, but they weren't the New York City sewers either. Sure, they were dark and smelled repulsive, but she could handle that, right? Those painful injections of god-knows-what had heightened her senses and her night vision. Unlike Vriska, it wasn't just the fungi on the walls.

She was still weaponless and had to rely on stealth. Easy enough, she was used to playing Extreme Hide and Go Seek with Equius. It would take him hours to find her hidden among the trees. But unlike their childhood game, this Game would kill her if she wasn't careful. That she knew for sure.

Inching along a dark stone hallway, she had no idea where she was. Or where anyone else was. There was only a constant _drip drip drip _of water. So maybe near an underground lake or some cistern system? She hadn't a clue.

Turning down another dark hall, she could make out a faint light coming from ceiling at the end. Jogging a bit, she found—oh dear god. It was a _meurtrière_. A hole to dump sand and tar and rocks and other nasty things down on attackers. She was in a tunnel that lead to the outside, no doubt. Or maybe had once lead to the outside. The lack of light wasn't convincing. What in the world had happened here?

Okay! Nothing else to see here! Time to go in the other direction!

Back the way she came and this time to the left, the path was much darker than before. There was a slight breeze from behind, and she hadn't the nerve to turn and look. If she looked, there would be something there, she knew it. She'd be fine if she just kept straight ahead and didn't give in to temptation.

She ventured into a pitch-black room. Maybe now was a good time to light her torch. Yes. Now was a good time.

No. Now was a _terrible_ time.

The room she had stumbled into was meant to be kept in the dark.

There were instruments of torture scattered about the room. A rack was at one end of the room, an iron spider hung above an old, heavily used fire pit, and a wheel was leaning against the other wall. On a wooden shelf hung a multitude of devices: a cat-o-nine-tails, cat's paws, a lead sprinkler, a pear of anguish, a curaisse, and a heretic's fork.

Bile rose in her throat when she realized half of the devices were stained a deep red. Her stomach churned queasily and it took everything for Nepeta not to be sick at the sight of the accursed atrocities sitting in this room.

She didn't dare take a step further.

Backing out of this hellish room, Nepeta flew down the corridor, down and to another light source. These light sources were probably a bad sign, all things consi—

_AHHHHHHHH!_

_OH GOD OH GOD THAT WAS A PERSON THAT WASN'T A PERSON OTHER WAY OTHER WAY. NO SHITFUCK THAT WAY WAS BLOCKED OFF OH LORD ONLY THAT ROOM IS LEFT NO NO NOOOOOOOO._

Nepeta dive-rolled into the torture chamber. It was between being ripped to shreds or being violently sick, and at the moment violently sick was winning. She never thought she'd say that. Weapon. She needed a weapon. This was a matter of life and death, her stomach was going to have to deal.

Hating everything about life, Nepeta snatched the cat's paws off the wall and prepared herself for a brawl. Honestly, this was the complete wrong way to go about this Game, but sometimes the rules had to be bent. She tried her best not to think about how the sharp metal prongs in her hands had once been used to rip flesh off bone.

_For Equius. _She'd tear this thing to re-death for Equius. He'd be displeased if she went and got herself torn to bits.

Or maybe for Karkat. Dear, sweet, shouty, taken, completely unavailable, STUPID FUCKING KARKAT—

There was a shuffle of heavy footsteps as the not-human human approached. Nepeta was having an angry breakdown. She didn't exactly notice how terrifying the _thing_ was that entered the room roaring like a wounded lion.

"WHAT THE FUCK DOES HE EVEN SEE IN HER ANYWAY?" she roared back, pupils dilated and cat's paws bared.

It growled and lunged at her.

Nepeta barrelrolled and swung her arms wildly, ripping at the flesh of its abdomen. "HUH? SHE'S SO GIGGLY AND PRISSY AND LOUD AND—" more angry slicing,_ "_—SO. ANNOYING."

The humanoid monster screeched in pain as Nepeta slid across the room, backing up in order to spring.

It howled.

"I DIDN'T ASK FOR A MOTHERFUCKING OPINION, ASSHOLE."

She charged, feral and powerful like a jungle cat.

* * *

Equius found his companion seated atop the unmoving, maimed corpse of a humanoid creature. Sobbing.

"Nepeta, what happened?"

"Karkat's a big, stupid loser!" she whined, wiping tears from her eyes onto the back of her sleeve.

Equius brought a hand to his forehead and sighed. "Are you all right?"

"All right? _All right?_ Do I _look_ all right to you?"

"Not in the slightest."

"Th-then _why bother asking?_" she broke into a teary hiccuping fit. "I d-don't even know what _happened._"

"What do you mean?"

"One moment I was te-terrified for my life. The next? I'm on some dead-thing throne like I'm the fucking Queen of Sheba!"

"You're using vulgar language, young lady."

"I don't _care_, Equius!" she yelled a little too loudly. "I'm scared, is all. I...I don't know what _happened_ to me. I became something else. Someone not me. Like a voice in my head took over and caused all—all _this_." She gestured to the carnage lying about on the floor. "I'm used to hunting. I'm _used_ to killing animals with guns to eat. I'm _not_ used to killing things with my bare hands for the sake of killing." She stared down into her lap, gazing at the black-red stains on her pale skin. "Will these hands ever be clean? Hell is murky, Equius. Hell is murky."

"I—we need to get you out of here."

"Even with a weapon I feel unsafe. Unguarded. We're still vulnerable. It gets into our minds, burrows into our thoughts. It reduces our humanity. Sucks it all out."

"What does?"

"The darkness."

Equius crossed the torture chamber and kneeled in front of poor, broken Nepeta. "I'm going to carry you out."

"I don't need you to carry me!"

"Yes, you do, you're in shock. You won't last much longer down here."

A rumble rippled through the room, shaking the walls and pillars.

"Fiddlesticks."

Nepeta's eyes were glowing with a fierceness like nothing before. "I'll take it."

"No, you will not. I am afraid the more you attack these things, the more sanity you lose."

"So is part of me already lost for good?"

"I hope not." Equius picked her up and swung her into his arms like she was lighter than a feather pillow. "Do you want to talk about what made you upset?"

"I'm still heartbroken."

"About the angry one?"

"Karkat, yeah," she sniffed. "It's been like, what, three months now?"

"Some wounds take longer to heal."

"I know." She gave her best friend a weak smile. "I just wish it would hurry and close up already. Maybe then I won't have any more outbursts."

"It seemed the outburst saved your life, though."

"In a way, yeah, I guess it did."

"So perhaps you should hold on to your anger in order to keep yourself safe?"

She snorted. "That is the stupidest thing I've heard you say in a _long_ time!"

He stopped in his tracks and watched something out of Nepeta's line of sight. "What is it?"

"I smell German."

"You can't _smell_ German, Equius. It's a nationality, not a pastry—"

Sure enough, Eridan rounded a corner at an admirable speed, dragging Feferi behind him. "That rumble just now? Yeah, from our direction!"

Equius turned on his heel and followed the two newcomers. "What was it?"

"Don't know, not lookin'!"

"So it was creepy?" Nepeta asked, eyes wide in curiosity.

"_Yes!_" Eridan and Feferi replied in unison.

"Hard left here, we're almost out," Eridan called behind him."

"How do you know?"

"Simple! _I_ have a map!"

The German was right; there was a staircase to the upstairs down the hall to the left. They ascended fast as rabbits and blocked the door off with every piece of heavy-looking furniture they could find.

"Holy _shit_ that was close," Eridan breathed and slid down a wall. He and Feferi looked completely winded, like they had been running for a considerable amount of time before nearly slamming into Equius and her. Nepeta cocked her head, still interested in the beastie chasing them.

"Did you find anything interesting down there?" Feferi asked.

"I found a torture chamber," Nepeta replied, feeling the color drain from her face at the memory. She held up her hands, cat's paws still locked around her fingers. "And these."

"I found next to nothing of importance, aside from Nepeta."

"I'm so glad I'm more observant. Maybe it's the glasses." Eridan pulled out an old journal. At the back, he had collected a number of letters and entries and envelopes. "I pay attention to my environment."

"So do I," Feferi said with a frown. "And _I_ didn't find anything of _value_."

"You were also trudgin' around the prison ward. I doubt they'd have paper lyin' around there."

"Then where the heck were _you?_"

"Living quarters. Personally, I'm surprised they were even down there. Odd thing to keep in a cellar."

"What about servants' quarters?"

Eridan shook his head. "Those are kept upstairs, not down."

Nepeta frowned. This castle wasn't making any sense. There were too many weird rooms downstairs. Too many strange things that didn't belong. She wondered how everyone else was doing. If they'd made it out of the cellars alive or not.

"Has anyone seen anybody else?"

Eridan and Feferi both scowled. "_Gamzee_."

"Where?" Equius crossed his arms and tried to look nonchalant, but Nepeta knew he was internally freaking out. Some authority complex or something.

"Down in the...this room with the name worn off the map. It looked like an office a some sort."

"What was he doing?"

"Causing trouble," they said with venom.

"Speak of the devil," Nepeta muttered as an orange mess of hair appeared at the top of the stairs. He was grinning madly. "Hello there, everyone. What's going down?"

"Get your pasty ass over here and I will show you what the fuck is goin' down, aside from your damn face into the rug!" Eridan whipped off his vivid purple cloak and threw it violently on the ground.

"Aww Eridan did you _miss_ me? Did you have fun in the dark, fish-boy?"

"_Come here and say that to my fucking face!"_

"Eridan!" Feferi leapt into action, wrapping her arms around Eridan's waist. "You can't just run around beating up other members of our group!"

"It was _him_ in the caves!" he said with a growl. "It was his goddamn laugh we heard."

"Was it?"

Nepeta bit her tongue to keep from laughing. This was entertaining. She had no doubt Gamzee could and would clobber Eridan, but the way Eridan was able to slither out of Feferi's grasp made her think twice. He was quicker on his feet than Gamzee, who was sluggish in his mania. Also, Eridan had a _mean_ right hook. She'd seen it in action before. He had managed to knock Sollux halfway across a room with one swing. The bruises hadn't been pretty.

There was a flash of green and the wild red mop tumbled below the bannister and out of sight. Kanaya, looking ferocious and dangerous, was holding a long piece of metal over her head, posed to strike Gamzee again.

"_Kanaya?!"_ the four said in collective surprise.

"Hi. Am I interrupting something?"

"Just the fight'a the century," Eridan deadpanned.

"_Ow, _love, that _hurt_," Gamzee moaned and stood. "I think you've concussed me."

"You are not vomiting. Also, I did not hit you hard enough to fracture your skull, I made sure of it."

"But it _huuuurts!"_ he whined.

"Not used to getting hit, are you?"

"What the heck are we watching?" Feferi whispered. The other three shook their heads, eyes glued to the oddities on the stairs above.

"You might as well join us," Kanaya called. "Everyone is upstairs and accounted for aside from you four and Sollux, Aradia, Tavros, and Vriska."

"_Everyone _else?" Nepeta asked. She was struggling to say Karkat's name, instead substituting where necessary.

Kanaya nodded. "We were about to go look for the rest of the party, but it seems—"

"I'll go find Sollux," Eridan interrupted, picking up a large piece of piping.

"Oh lord. I'm going too," Feferi said, taking Eridan's free hand. "Make sure everyone's brains stay intact."

"We will go upstairs." Equius hoisted Nepeta onto his shoulders. "Right?"

She grumbled something, but didn't directly protest.

"They are congregated in the grand chambers down the hall and to the right. Rose is waiting outside—" Kanaya grimaced, "—so you should have no trouble finding it. Now, to seek Tavros—"

Kanaya clamped onto Gamzee's upper arm and practically yanked him down the stairs. Nepeta hadn't been aware of her strength until now. Kanaya was _not_ someone she wanted to meet in a dark alley.

"Eridan, Feferi, meet up here in an hour if you cannot find Sollux and Aradia. I assume the two will be together."

Eridan growled and stalked off. Feferi shot Kanaya a sympathetic look and followed.

Equius looked up at Nepeta. "Are you ready to face him?"

Was she ready to face Karkat, the boy who confused her and ripped her heart to pieces? Who was, quite possibly, her least favorite human being at this point in time? Also one of the ones she held most highly? The one who hurt her the deepest three months ago? Who had moved on, while she was stuck, still miserable, and still terribly attached? The one she had gone to goddamn _Turkey_ to forget?

The short answer was no.

The long answer was noooooooooooooooooooooooooo.

"Yes. I think so."

He nodded. "Let me know if I should tear him to pieces."

"I will."

"Because I will."

She laughed. "I know. You're a good friend, Equius."

A strange expression passed across his face. "You too, Nepeta. A good friend. The best."

* * *

**A/N: **Eeep I'm three days late! Augh I wanted to update Saturdays and here I am at 11 on a Monday night just finishing this chapter. AARRRGGGHHH!  
From now on I promise Saturday-Sunday will but the update day. Not Mondays. To make up for it, here's 1000+ more words than usual. Go crazy. Sorry the majority is Nepeta. Honestly, not the direction I intended, but as I've stated before, this story writes itself.  
Hope everyone's in-character.

**There's a poll on my profile about the shipteases I'm considering. If you'd just drop a few votes it'd give me an idea of what everyone ships.  
Not that it'll change the final pairings, but I'll include some fodder. Mwahahaha.**

So yeah. As some of you have pointed out, it is reminiscent of Amnesia: The Dark Descent. Means I'm doing something right because that was _exactly_ the atmosphere I was aiming for. Thanks to Rose's little deduction, that is _clearly_ not the plot I'll be following, but hey, creepy atmosphere: check!

(Did anyone recognize the Shakespeare? One of the better plays in my opinion.)

Word of the Chapter: _Amentia_ - Latin, meaning 'to be out of ones senses; madness; insanity'.

Love you all, you're all fantastic for sticking with my super-mood-change, and once again grazie grazie for the reviews and favorites and follows and AHH I WANT TO HUG YOU ALL.

* * *

**Review Respondere:**

**Guest:  
**asdfghjkl; aww thank you! I'm so glad you liked it


	11. Silet Tristitia, Silet Metuum

A note before the chapter? OH MY!  
So chapter 11 **contains character spoilers from the Act 6 Intermission 3 flashes.** If you've not gotten there I suggest you either catch up or don't care. If you have a tumblr (like me) you already know they exist. Because the fandom sucks at tagging their spoilers.

ALSO! Warning right now I'm going to pull a sloppy writing technique and have a second-person narrator in the first character because I don't want the gender revealed yet.

_Keep Calm And Read On._

* * *

**=== ?: Wander**

You like the castle. Call it home sometimes. A big, creaky home that shifts and changes and tries to kill you, but you like it anyway. It has this sort of odd...atmosphere about it. Something about the darkness and how it flows...it intrigues you.

You could say curiosity is a grand killer of sorts.

You feel safe in the darkness, lurking with the creatures of the night. They make for shallow company, but it's better than staying with the rest of _them_. After what happened...you can never go back. Showing your face, no. Unacceptable. It cannot happen. Forgiveness is too much to ask.

Instead here you stay, hidden in the shadows, conversing with the wispy creatures. The won't hurt you; they fear you. _The others_ were uneasy around you. But their suspicion merely skimmed the milky froth on top of the over-boiled cream.

You are quiet, quiet enough to blend into your surroundings without a second glance cast in your direction. Everyone has been walking by you recently. Just another ghost in the hallway. Just another lost soul.

But you can smell it, the blood of Another. Wafting down the corridors, slinking around the steps and through the cracks in the walls. Perhaps you are no longer alone? Perhaps you are just as alone as before. Time to find out.

Ah, yes, the Little One and the Girl. You've seen them before, the Little One more than the Girl. He wandered in your realm the longest of them all, you assume because he did not fully comprehend the rules. The rules, the rules, oh what nonsense they were! You're glad you don't have to put up with them any more. They were useless.

Now, to get the attention of the Little One. It is not as if you can simply lob a decently-sized object at the boy's head. There's the possibility of missing, not to mention being discovered. No, there must be another way to lure the Little One. Another way—

* * *

**=== Kanaya: Look for Vriska**

Kanaya couldn't believe she had dragged _Gamzee_ along on this sidequest. Hadn't Terezi offered to go in his steed? Yes, but Karkat was completely against it and somehow convinced her otherwise. Why, why, _why_ had she let the idiot join her?

"Where do you suggest we check first?"

His voice seemed calm but those eyes, those eyes. She couldn't get over how dark they'd grown. The boy was barking mad.

"I will not be informing you."

"Why not?"

"Because you may run off and try to kill them."

"Oh come, Kanaya," he scoffed, "do you think me that devilish?"

"Yes."

Gamzee's eyes twitched and his lips curled up into snarl for a quick second. She wondered if there was any good hidden deep within him, maybe a small trace of what she'd seen during the daytime. Probably not. All his sanity had washed away recently. Kanaya did not like what the darkness had been doing to him.

"Just one? Please?"

"_No!_ You are _not_ killing anyone off!"

"I can _feel_ it under my skin! I may go mad and tear it off if I don't rip into something else first!"

"Then go find a monster or a rabid dog or _something!_"

A howl, faint and bloodthirsty, echoed down the hall.

They glanced at each other, Kanaya in horror, Gamzee in delight.

Quick like the cunning little fox he was, Gamzee scooped Kanaya up and bolted in the opposite direction.

"I don't think you can understand—can even _begin_ to comprehend—how badly I want to tear whatever made that noise apart with my bare hands."

"Then why not do so?! Put me down, I'm not stopping you!"

"Yes, you are! You will always be stopping me!"

"How? How am I stopping you?"

"_By existing!_" He paused a moment at a fork, glancing down both dark hallways. "The...the _other_ half of me won't let me hurt you. Won't let me hurt you, or Tavros, or Karkat. You're all safe from my desired carnage."

"Gamzee—"

"And sometimes half of me wants to tear you limb from limb, but the other wants to make sweet love to you, and it becomes a bit of both on occasion."

"More than one occasion."

"_Hush_." He took a left. "I'm going to get you somewhere safe, then I'm going to go and kill that thing. Okay? No debating this, it's happening."

"I can take care of myself!"

"Bull_shit!_ In the real world, yes! But here, not in hell, Kanaya. They'd kill you."

"Earlier—"

"Earlier they were preoccupied with _me_. You are failing to comprehend how _dangerous_ this game is. If you die, you die, and you get _stuck_ here."

Kanaya opened her mouth.

"As in _permanently._"

He ducked into a library, nearly smacking Kanaya's head on the door frame. "Stay here. Please."

"But I—"

"_Stay. Put._"

Kanaya was left alone as Gamzee flew out the door and down the hall, his footsteps echoing in the large, hollow space. She sighed. She could chase after him, but that would likely only lead to a lot of panic and trouble.

She turned to the shelves decorated in many-colored leather-bound tomes. Passing the time, on the other hand, would not cause any trouble.

* * *

**=== Tavros: Lose Vriska**

The ballroom was grander than he had imagined, and far more together than the rest of the castle. The floor, an elegant wood, wasn't rotted in the slightest, the paint coating the walls vibrant and stainless. If Tavros closed his eyes, he could hear the faint trill of a violin and the somber notes of a piano. It was...dark, but beautiful.

"Should we go in?" Tavros asked Vriska, who was smiling like a cat. They'd merely opened the huge double doors, but hadn't dared to enter the room.

"Why not? What's the worst that could happen?"

"You said that last time."

"Nothing went badly, did it?"

"No, I suppose—"

"Then what are you waiting for?" She took his hand and led him into the empty—

The room full of people.

There were shadow couples, all dancing, all in extravagant monochrome clothes from nearly forty years ago. They were all either black or white—black as ink or white as snow—with masks covering their eyes. Some were smiling, some looked neutral, others upset. The room was full of chatter and music. Lamps that previously had not existed were lit and aglow with soft honey flames.

Tavros glanced down to see that he, too, was in out-of-fashion garb, dressed dapper as a dandy. Dark, handsome silk clung to his frame in the shape of a tailcoat and dress pants, accompanied by an orange-brown cummerbund. This was strange.

This was too strange. And Vriska had disappeared.

On the far side of the room was the first person Tavros saw to have a skin tone and distinct features. Maybe—

* * *

**=== Vriska: Dance**

It had been so long since she'd waltzed. That night a week ago hadn't been waltzing. Or formal ballroom dancing. And this dress. It was blue and absolutely suffocating. Or maybe that was the corset? Whatever it was, there was too much lace on her person. And her head. And pretty much everywhere.

This whole room was creepy. She didn't like that she couldn't see any faces, or that she had on a mask. A mask with feathers and scales. She hated masquerade balls. They were so last century.

She had been dragged away from Tavros almost as soon as they entered the room, swept up by the currents of the dancefloor. Without him, this room was making her anxious, with its weird shadow people and illusionary...magic, she guessed? Hell, anything seemed possible in this weird existence.

Now to find Tavros—

_Dammit!_ Carried to another section of the room by the ebb and flow of the dancing couples. She tried to step out of it and bumped into some—

Vriska turned to face another masked companion, one with an elaborate half-face Venetian mask. The wearer's face was pale as porcelain, delicate designs painted in pastel golds and silvers. Honey-gold lace swirled from the mask around the jawbone and curled up at the lips. It was a knight's mask, with peacock feathers swimming up the left side, extending past both the crown of the mask and the jaw. Who—

The wearer posed in inquiry for a dance.

How could she refuse?

Vriska took the mystery's hands and was whisked off to the center of the floor, captured by music and rhythm. The curious owner was a fabulous dancer, never missing a step and never saying a word.

"If I were to ask who you were?"

The masked Gentleman smiled, briefly ruining his stoic image.

"Right. A silent. All part of the act?"

The Gentleman continued to smile.

They twirled about on the floor, pace rapidly increasing with the violin and piano duet sounding all through the room, though neither instrument or player could be seen.

"So," Vriska started after what she believed to be a significant amount of time, "you're rather tall."

The Gentleman smirked but said nothing.

"I'm wondering if you could be whom I'm looking for."

He went back to a neutral expression.

"I have no idea what that means. You're the right height. He's taller than I am, but only by a head. Like you. He's also light on his feet and rather graceful, also like you."

They pulled into a quick turn and ended up on the far side of the room.

"You also remind me a bit of someone I used to love," Vriska said quietly, a faint blush crossing her cheeks. "He was charming, handsome, and also a stellar dancer. But he had a temper more explosive than dynamite and would always get so_ jealous_ of everything."

The Gentleman cocked his head to the side as the music slowed, bringing the dancing pair closer together.

"You're like a mime, you know?" Vriska chuckled. "He was terrible but sweet at the same time," she continued. "I still miss him sometimes, even though I'm not sure I've ever let him see that. But you don't talk _nearly_ as much as he did. Was very high maintenance, that boy."

"And what about the new one?"

Vriska swung around to see Tavros, a white mask in the shape of a bull's skull perched on his head.

"_Tavros?"_

"Who were you talking to?" Was that..._jealousy _she heard?

"What do you—"

"You've been rambling to empty air for the past few minutes."

"That's not possible, I was dancing with—" Vriska turned back to see no one there. _"_I don't like this castle."

"I _told _you this wasn't going to end well!"

"Where have _you_ been!?"

"Looking for _you_," he spit bitterly. "And trying to make my way over there." He pointed to a high throne-like chair at the other end of the ballroom.

"What's over there?"

"Another living person. Now if you're finished reveling in your _past_, we can go check it out."

"I'm sorry. It—he doesn't mean anything to me anymore. I lost him months—_years_—back."

...But, wait. Was that a lie? Did she actually lose him? Or just grow tired of trying to stay with him? Was it a clean break or—

"Fine. I don't care. Let's just go, okay?"

He certainly did care, but it was Vriska's turn to be silent and lead.

As they made their way across the floor, Vriska could swear she saw blinks of color in the sea of black and white. She shook her head. Not possible. Moving on.

The back of the room was elevated slightly, three stairs leading up to the throne-like seats. There were windows behind them, looking out onto a beautiful garden with a gazebo and row after row of flowering plants. It was drizzling outside, the rain far calmer than the downpour outside the castle. What was this space?

A boy—no older than Vriska—was lounging sloppily on the lower seat, a look of boredom across his aristocratic features. He wore no mask; it hung off a post on the back of the chair. He looked familiar but alien, his brown hair gelled back in an obsessive fashion. He raised a thin eyebrow at their approach.

This was impossible. Vriska wasn't going to believe this one bit. No. No no. But, could it...

"Is that a lightning bolt-shaped scar on your head?"

"A wizard did it." He had a thick Germanic accent that fumbled around the 'w' in his speech.

"_Eridan?_"

The boy shook his head. "No. I am not who you seek."

"Then who _are _you?"

He stood and bowed stiffly. "Nikolaus Alexis Cronus Rudolf Emil Ferdinand, Prince of the Austro-Hungarian Empire."

They stared.

"You may simply address me as Cronus, if you wish, though most refer to me as 'Your Highness'. I rather prefer informalities when faced with this issue."

"You're very long winded," Tavros muttered.

The Prince of Hapsburg laughed. "It is fair to assume you have yet to meet another of my teammates who never stopped speaking."

"Wait." Something was clicking soundly in Vriska's mind. The boy before her looked like Eridan but was not Eridan. His clothes—a violet and gold ensemble decked to hell and back with buttons and buckles—spoke of a period that existed differently than the one that had occurred. An era vanished in time. "You're one of the original sixteen."

"And you, blue mistress, are from a time both before mine and after. The time after the War." He smiled at her in a sly, predatory fashion.

"Excuse me?"

"My world had none. Yours, on the other hand, had one, the Great War. And perhaps another, _if _you make it out alive, which my session did not."

"Then what are you doing here?" Tavros asked, waking from his stupor.

"Reliving the moment in history in which everything went wrong. It's been years and I still cannot figure out the root cause of the disaster."

"This is your castle?"

He nodded. "One of them. Not that the papers like to remember. They have changed since we entered. The Duke's doing, no doubt."

"Who?"

Prince Cronus waved it away. "No one of direct importance."

"You said you were reliving a disaster?"

"That is correct."

"Then, how is time passing in this room?"

"Through a stable loop. Those not inside the loop can enter and exit, such as yourselves and me, along with—" He stopped and gazed at something on the floor of the ballroom. "I have to go."

Vriska watched as Cronus sprang from his throne and into the crowd. He vanished slowly, the violet Prince chasing after a flicker of fuchsia.

Tavros looked at Vriska. "That was pointless."

"A bit. Should we go?"

The pair fought their way out of the room, appearing back in their normal clothes after stepping over the threshold.

"We were suppose to go find Captor and your maid, but we ended up findin' you and Nitram."

Eridan and Feferi were waiting outside. Eridan had a pipe clutched in his hands, Feferi, a lantern. They both looked distressed.

"Erm, why were you looking for us?"

"The Jade Dragon wants to have a group chat and we're missing four outta sixteen. Well, just two now, unless she and the crazy bastard found the last ones."

"Hopefully she has, I don't want _you_ of all people to find Sollux," Feferi said with an eyeroll at Eridan.

"So you're gonna go and _defend_ him now?"

"I never said that!"

"You were thinkin' it."

"Was not. Can we go now?"

"You an' Tav can, I need to have a word with Serket."

"We're on a last-name basis now?"

"Can it. Go, Fef, we'll catch up in a moment," he called over his shoulder as he led Vriska down a new hallway.

"What are we—"

After what had felt like an eternity apart, Eridan's lips met hers in a gentle peck. "Thank you, Vriska. I'm—I'm sorry everythin' soured between us. Especially after how it had been kinda nice in the beginnin'."

"Oh. _Oh my GOD._ It was _you!_ I danced with you!"

He smirked. "How didya think we knew where you were?"

"I cannot _believe_ I told you all that! _To your face!"_

"Embarrassed?_"_

_ "Yes!_" Vriska hit Eridan on the shoulder. "Why didn't you _say_ something?"

"I was gonna but then you started talkin' about us and I was intrigued."

Vriska made an unintelligible noise.

"How's your conquest goin'?"

"Okay. I think," she growled. "Yours?"

Eridan sighed in exasperation. "Can't bring myself to say anythin' to her about how I feel. Still."

"It's been _years_ since you fell for her, Eridan. She might find someone else soon if you don't speak up."

"Who would she—_Captor._"

"So go get your girl, Ampora, and stop slacking!"

He held out his hand. "Promise you'll help me win her back if he does get her?"

"Only if you promise to _do _something this time."

"Deal." They shook on it. "Should I start by comfortin' her?"

"Why?"

"She's all shaken up after meeting some girl who looks like her. According to Fef, they're total opposites."

"Go for it."

"I will. We should probably get back to them."

"Agreed."

* * *

**=== Kanaya: Be seduced**

_Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do._

Kanaya snapped to attention, slamming the book on her lap closed. She knew that voice.

_ I've gone crazy all for the love of you._

Those...were not the lyrics. Oh dear.

_It won't be a stylish marriage._

An absolutely mad Gamzee entered the library covered in blackish blood. His pupils were blown up to the size of saucers. Kanaya jumped up on top of the large desk at the back of the room. "Gamzee—"

"_I can't afford a carriage, Kanaya, my love," _he purred. "Were you a good girl?" His voice was fluctuating madly, a hungry grin fixed on his face.

"I—did not leave the room, if that is what you are asking." _Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit._

"_Are you afraid of me, love? _You're standing on a desk, away from me. _Any reason?_"

"No, not frightened, merely put off. Where did—where were you?"

"Talking to a _friend_."

"Which friend?"

"One you don't know. _Come on, Kanaya. _I thought you _liked_ me scary? _We had such a nice dark romance going on."_

"And we still do, rest assured, as long as I do not believe you will rip my throat out."

"Who said I would do that?"

"I am under the impression that you will."

He shut the door, grin reaching to his ears. "_I wouldn't rip your throat out, my love._ There is, however, another something of yours I want to rip."

Kanaya's eyes widened. "_Here?_"

"_There, and everywhere, my dear._"

She could feel her cheeks flush. "Are you sure?"

"Do I look unsure to you?"

Kanaya sized him up. He looked murderous, ravenous, and lustful. She—_wow_, she was actually finding the mad look _extremely _attractive. Jeez, she needed to get her fetishes in order. Crazy and bloodthirsty should _not_ be at the top of that list.

"_Kanaya_." His face became serious, irises back and exposed. "I said earlier that I would _never_ harm you. _Ever_." He crossed the room and stood up on the desk beside her. Kanaya jerked and raised the huge encyclopedia in her hands. Couldn't be too cautious with Gamzee.

"Stop that, it's silly." He took the book from her gently and placed it on a pile of similar books. He brought her into a hug, stroking her hair. "I meant what I said. As scary as I get, you always calm me down."

"Or knee you in the crotch."

"That too."

Kanaya looked up at him. "I hate it when you're nice." She took his face in her hands and they went tumbling down.

* * *

Words could not describe how furious Karkat was when Kanaya returned to their makeshift headquarters. _He_ couldn't even properly articulate himself, dissolving into choked gargling noises. Only Karkat could understand so much from a pair of ripped stockings. He bolted out the door in fury. It took all of two seconds for Terezi to spring up and chase after him.

Kanaya sighed. This wasn't her day.

Oh, to make matters worse, Rose was approaching her.

"Kanaya? Can we talk?"

* * *

**=== Karkat: Go looking for Sollux, because no one else in this damn place seems to be capable**

Cherry on the ice cream sundae. Sprinkles on top of the fairy bread. Icing on the cake. Just fan-tucking-fastic.

This is not what Karkat had wanted to do; go hunt after his best friend while his other best friend banged one of his good friends. Dammit that was a confusing sentence. Whatever. All he knew was that he was _pissed_, and these closed-door sloppy makeout touchy-feely shenanigans had to _stop_.

"_Karkat slow down!_"

He halted his sprint as Terezi raced up to him. "Christ, why are you in such a hurry?"

"Because we've got four missing people, two more that went out and haven't come back, and whenever I turn my back on any two people, they start going at it like feral animals in heat." He was growling. Why was he growling?

"What died and made you king?"

"Kanaya's innocence."

Terezi visibly flinched. Oooh that was rather nasty of him.

"Karkat, that was unnecessary."

"I know, I know, that was bad. I'm sorry. Please don't tell Kanaya."

Terezi put her hands up defensively. "No worries there. The less people skilled in combat angry at me the better."

"Thanks."

She linked arms with him. "Anytime, Sir Grumpsalot, my knight in bloody armor. Do you know where we're going?"

Karkat shook his head. "No idea."

"Let's try down there," Terezi suggested, pointing to a desolate, brightly lit corridor.

"Why not."

They strolled down it calmly, having no rush after Karkat's rage died down. It was quiet. Peaceful. If he tried, Karkat could forget that he was in a big, horrifying castle that was trying to kill him. Almost.

"_YOU'RE ACTING LIKE CHILDREN, THE TWO OF YOU!"_

That was Feferi's voice, echoing from somewhere down the passageway. Terezi and Karkat glanced at each other.

Sollux flew by, hopping easily over felled objects. "Issat as fast as you can go, gill-face?" he called over his shoulder.

Eridan came barreling down the hall. "I'm not even at half speed, four eyes!"

"The pot called the kettle black, ladies and gents! Then try an' catch ups, pond scum!"

Feferi and Aradia were next to follow at a somewhat slower pace. "This is _so _embarrassing," Aradia said with a groan.

"What's this even about?" Karkat asked.

"_The grease-monkey was tryin' to chat up my girl!" _Eridan yelled as he and Sollux lapped back to the group.

"_YOUR_ GIRL?" Feferi cried. _"YOUR GIRL?"_

"Bit early, fish-face!" called Vriska, who recently arrived hand-in-hand with...Tavros, of all people. _Huh, odd choice,_ Karkat thought as the mad scene unraveled.

Sollux stopped dead in his tracks. "Whoa, so she _is _your bird, mate?"

Eridan slowed. "Erm, not exactly—"

"I dun want nofing to do wif caged birds."

"_WE ARE NOT DATING!"_ Feferi screamed, silencing the bickering couple.

"...So she's up for grabs?" Sollux asked.

"I—"

"I am not an object! I have feelings, too!"

"Captor, this is not the right time—"

"I am so, so, _so_ done." Feferi ran off back the way she had come, sprinting down the hallway with more agility than the two dumbasses combined.

Eridan turned and glared at Sollux. "_Thanks._" He hared after her. "Fef!"

Sollux made to run as well, but was pulled back by Araida. "Sollux, this is ridiculous. _Don't_."

"Sorry, love."

Terezi and Karkat watched, open-mouthed. This was. This—

"We're going back," Karkat announced. "I can't. We're heading back. Everyone who's here, follow me."

"What about Eridan and Feferi?" Tavros asked.

"Don't care, they can find their own way back, I am _not _dealing with anymore flat-out stupidity today." He turned to Sollux. "What the actual fuck, man. You know he's been drooling over her for years."

Sollux raised an eyebrow. "_That's_ the gel he's been fawning over?"

"_YES._"

"Soes I made one wee outta line comment an' 'e snaps like a brittle coil. S'not me fault, mate."

Karkat was glaring. "It was, and you know it. Stop trying to cover your ass."

"I f'ought they was dating!"

"Well, you _thought wrong_, genius."

"Eridan's been hot about Feferi since _before_ we were a thing," Vriska interjected.

"Wait, you went out with _Eridan?"_ Tavros asked.

"Uh-huh. For like a year when I was sixteen."

"But he—but you—"

"We're both angry, pushy people, get over it."

Tavros blinked. "I think my head just spun right round."

There was a boom from down the hall and the castle shook violently, rattling the kids in their boots. Karkat glanced at Terezi. "Do we run?"

"We run."

"Eridan and Feferi?"

"Will also run. Now we run before we discover what made the boom."

* * *

**=== Eridan: Search for Feferi**

The rumble shaking the walls was less than promising, and Eridan was none too happy with the noise. It was a roar, like a mighty dragon being awoken. If dragons existed. He'd buy into that, it wasn't too hard to believe after all this crazy nonsense that had been going on.

He ducked down a dark passage. "Fef?"

"_Eridan?_" Her voice was faint. Not the time to panic, not the time to panic—

"Where are you?"

"_Down here."_

Shit, this was a dark corridor. Eridan wasn't sure if he wanted to light his lantern or not. Well, he didn't want to. He wasn't sure if he _should_ light it and waste the fuel. He pushed open a huge door at the end of the corridor. Downside to not lighting it, the darkness imps would affect his brain. Big whoo—

"FEFERI WHAT THE HELL."

The room was dark and water-soaked. It was above one of the hopelessly flooded tunnels he'd found earlier, the floor had completely given in.

Feferi was suspended above the black pool by five white tentacles. She looked unharmed, but—

"Are you okay? Jesus, Fef, how did you even _get _there?"

"It—she called to me, Eridan."

"_She?_"

"Gl'bgolyb."

"Are you speaking Lovecraftian to me?"

"No, that's her name, Gl'bg—"

"Spare my eardrums. How do I get you down?"

"You can't, not yet, she's talking to me."

"What."

"Telepathically. Or sort of telepathically. She can only communicate with me when she touches me."

"...Have you been hidin' a tentacle fetish from me?"

"What? No! Ew, Eridan, that's gross."

"So should I come back in like half an hour or what?"

"No, it won't take much longer, she says."

"What was that big boom earlier?"

"Gl'bgolyb destroyed the floor."

Oh sweet Jesus, this was a long day.

"And you're positive she's not going to mysteriously _kill_ you?"

Feferi nodded. "Yup, she's good. She's one of the guides Sollux was talking about at the briefing."

Eridan glanced around guiltily at the name. "Fef? I'm sorry about earlier. For actin' like a total prick and all."

"Well, thank you for apologizing, Eridan, but I'm not the only one you need to say sorry to."

Eridan's eye twitched. "Do I actually have—"

"_Yes."_

He looked down. "Fine. Next time I see him. In front a you."

"Thank you." She shifted in her suspended position. "Erm, Eridan?"

"Yes?"

"Do you—wow, this is awkward—haha, how do I say this?—do you actually, well, feel _that_ way about me?"

Eridan felt his cheeks flare up. He was about to be exposed prematurely. "What way?"

"You know, do you have _romantic_ feelings about me?"

"I—"

The room rumbled and Eridan was thrown from his feet and onto the broken plywood. Feferi screamed, the tentacles wrapped around her body tightening and pulling her under the water's murky surface.

"Feferi!" Eridan cried as she disappeared under the black water.

"Oh. Oh my god. Oh shit. Oh _shit_."

Think think _think, Eridan!_ Oh god what did he do? Did he follow? Did he—

Eridan stripped off the majority of clothing and, in a moment of rash courage and stupidity, he dove into the hellish lake.

There was a moment of panic when Eridan's gills opened. It felt like suffocation and drowning at the same time, choking off his air and throwing liquid down his trachea. But somehow...something went right in biology and oxygen began to filter out of the water and into Eridan's respiratory system. Organic vents lining his sides began to open and close and he was suddenly glad he'd torn his shirt off.

It was ferociously cold and much murkier than he expected. _Shit_, it was hard to see. White ropes—_tentacles_—were zooming past his field of view, made clear by the new cells in his eyes forming a clear, protective cover.

Eridan began to swim do—

_Pain. _Searing pain erupted through his system as his body changed to accommodate its immersion in water. Waxy, web-like tissue connected his digits like duck's feet. God, it was like taking gillyweed.

The spell ended somewhat quickly and he kicked down with his weird, webbed feet, going at possibly twice normal speed. Feferi was down there somewhere, being strangled by some giant tentacle monster or something. That was motivation enough.

The beast was bigger than he originally imagined. It was so large, he couldn't see an end. A white expanse of fish-octopus-monster spread through the submerged areas, Feferi held out directly in front of the white Cthulhu-creature's face...mouth...beak-thing.

She reached out to him.

Eridan swam forward, nervous but determined. This was Feferi. He couldn't let anything bad happen to her. He—

He wasn't going to admit to that. Not yet.

He reached out to her—

"_Thank god. I wasn't sure how I was going to gesture touching to you. We can communicate like this, semi-telepathically, it's too hard to hear in the water."_

_ "How do I get you out a this thing's grasp?"_

Feferi's laugh, tiny silver bells, echoed in his mind. _"She's protecting me, silly. The rumble is from above us, not below. She would have grabbed you too, but I was afraid you'd freak out."_

_ "So you'd let me die?"_

_ "No. I sort of assumed you'd follow if I were in distress. And I was right."_

Eridan grumbled.

_"Cheer up, silly, it'll be fine."_

The eldritch monster, Gl'bgolyb, shook weirdly, like it was trying to restrain its voice.

_"She says there are things coming from below as well."_

_ "Can't it protect us?"_

"She_, Eridan, not it. And yes and no. Yes, normally she could, but this thing coming isn't something she could save us from. It's too quick."_

A tentacle wrapped around Eridan's waist _"What is going on?"_

_ "Brace yourself!"_

The white tentacle whipped up and sent Eridan flying up through foot after foot of water, catapulting him out of the underground lake and back to the surface.

He experienced the same suffocation-drowning sensation as his lungs restructured themselves and his gills closed to the air-filled world, body surging in pain as the webbed tissue returning into his flesh, or whatever it did.

Feferi pulled herself up, choking and gasping and wet as a dog. Her dress clung to her skin, tight and revealing, breasts partially expo—

NOPE. NOPE NOT NOW.

"Do you think we're safe?" he asked after she caught her breath.

"For now, yeah, I think we're all right."

"Good."

"Pretty good."

Feferi looked over at Eridan, something strange sparking in her eyes.

It took less than ten seconds for Eridan to curl his fingers into her hair, their lips meeting for the first time after four brutal years of longing—

Eridan jumped back, a hand at his mouth. "What just—"

"I—" Feferi was crimson, her fingers hiding the bottom half of her face.

"I mean, it was good for like a second and then—"

"Then that weird sensation—"

"You could taste it, right?"

"Yeah, it was weird. That was, it was happiness, correct?"

"I think. I mean, how should I know? I didn't think it was possible to _feel_ other people emotions, especially not with your lips."

"Well, was it good or was it horrible?"

"It was like a mix? The kiss was fine, but the aftermath was just—"

"Weird."

"...Yeah."

"Maybe it was just a one time thing. Do you wanna try again?"

She nodded and he gave her a peck on the lips. And swore.

"You're embarrassed."

"And you're nervous."

"God, this is gonna to be impossible. You tasted all funny, like cooked beets."

Feferi couldn't help but laugh. "And you were sour in a weird way, like it wasn't bad, just...different. But, you know, it _could_ be good."

"How. How could this possibly be good? I've wanted to kiss you since I was fifteen, and now I can't without tastin' your emotions, without _feelin'_ them like they're tangible."

"Since you were _fifteen?"_

"Yeah. Drop it."

"Sorry. But...well...imagine if we weren't nervous or embarrassed. Like, your happiness was really sweet, and enticing. If both of us felt like that—"

"Do you think it only works with us or will other people feel it too? Or will we feel it when we kiss other people?"

"I—I don't know. I think we'd have to test it out."

Eridan thought for a moment. "Okay. We'll test it. But first, let's try this happiness idea." Eridan, smiling, took Feferi's face in his hands, feeling little bits of her emotions gliding through his fingertips. Their lips crashed together and he could swear he tasted the stars.

* * *

**=== ?: Revel in your success**

It was all going accordingly. The Little One had infected the Girl. It wouldn't take long until all the other members felt the side effects of the mania. Even if they didn't all get it, just a few poisoned members on the team would do. But the Lalonde, she was going to throw it all off. She was more observant than expected. She would be a nuisance, a parasite to exterminate. Her and the Girl were too suspicious of everything. If the Girl figured out she was infected before the mania spread, it was all over.

That won't happen. You'll make sure of it.

* * *

**A/N:** I am so late and I am so so so _so **so so** _sorry. I got buried under schoolwork and swimteam and the faint glimmer of a social life and swimteam and did I mention swimteam?  
I hate swimteam.

**Shipping poll is still up, I suggest you go vote!**

If anyone's interested, the music the ballroom scene was written to (and fits with) is Prokofiev's Violin Sonata No. 1, which is gorgeous and everyone should go listen to it because it is godly.

Words of the chapter: _Silet Tristitia, Silet Metuum_: Latin, meaning Silent Sorrow, Silent Fear/Terror.

Love you all, check my terrible spelling and grammar, the reviews and favorites and follows and ALL THE READERS make my day special. Hopefully the next chapter will not take so long to write. I literally powered through 18 pages yesterday. LIKE A BOSS.


	12. Hamaxostichus Qui Euolat Duobus Modis

**=== ?!: Remember**

The train led somewhere once.

Now it sat—useless and decrepit—at the crumbling, deserted station. There was no leaving the town for you anymore, no way out. There were ways in and, based on the light flickering in the castle up the mountain, a new group had found themselves in this desolate place.

You sighed, knowing the pain they would come to experience in later days. No one ever made it out alive. No one ever took the train home.

It disappeared sometimes, though. The word in the village said it was a ghost train. It used to run both ways, but now it only leads through, never looping back around. If you set foot on the train, you never come back. The ghost train, humble and dark, carries spirits through to the other side. Or to here, wherever here was. No one knew anymore. No one could say where here was.

Was it The Next Stop, the place before the Gate? The waiting room to the afterlife? Or _was_ it the afterlife? The spirit world, the land inside the Gate? Was it still on Earth? Or a place far beyond?

You have touched the mist on the outskirts enough times to know that this place was otherworldly. Perhaps it was the spirit world. Not heaven, but close. Close enough for the restless wanderers that passed through the village every so often. The lost ones on their journey to other lands, other times, other lives. It wasn't like time was a feasible concept anymore, not after so many years...or were they years? Was it days? Months? A millennium? Time was meaningless; a human concept. A concept of a species in which you were unsure if you still belonged.

Funny, how the spirits could depart, but those in questionable states of animation were trapped.

You wondered where this new group was from, what vanished era in time? They only showed up from the blips in human history, like your era, an era of grease and steam. Eschaton brought them all together, every time that wasn't meant to exist. Like yours. Like theirs.

You reentered the tavern from the rain, thoroughly soaked and full of questions. Your group was inside, less wet but still cold and miserable. You lot stuck together these days, far more than you did when you were actually playing. Each other was all you had left, now that you had failed the final quest.

Wait. Someone was missing.

Your stomach dropped. _Three_ of them were gone. The first two, fine, but the last one. Anyone but the _last_ one.

You grabbed a lantern, a cloak, and a few concerned friends. You don't want to go, not even in the slightest, but you have to. This could get ugly.

* * *

**=== Kanaya: Have a chat**

Rose's eyes were big and full of curiosity, like they had been when she'd first met the charming, witty girl. She missed how they sparkled in the light, crackling when she learned something new—

Emotions came rushing to her, rupturing the cauterized wound in her heart, the wound she so desperately tried to seal, to allow to heal. It never had, it seemed, no matter how many layers of bandages and gauze she applied, it didn't quite mend properly. All those memories and lost dreams—

"Kanaya?"

"What?"

"I asked if we could talk?"

"Oh. Yes, of course."

Rose smiled, bright and lively. "Good. Follow me."

Shaking away her emotional turmoil, Kanaya fell in step next to the glaring reminder of her failed romance. Rose led her down an old, once-beautiful hallway to a balcony overlooking the floor below. The walls and floor were reddish in tint and pale, like a rosebud.

Rose leaned over the railing, gazing down at the abandoned room below. "You're a mess."

"That much is obvious."

"It doesn't need to be that way, though." She looked up at Kanaya, a weak smile on her face. "Do you think a day goes by where I'm not thinking over my decision? One day where I don't go over my choices and weigh my options and ask myself did I _really_ pick the clueless idiot over the intelligent, caring woman?

"Sometimes I think I've made a terrible mistake. Some days I'm not sure of myself. But others...others I find it silly I've questioned my choice at all. And I—I feel terrible saying this, but I know my decision was the right one. I've looked back at what we had and I've been grateful for the experience, for the chance to get to know you as well as I did. Do you think we've made the right choice?"

Kanaya looked down. Had she? Had they?

"I—I do not know. I feel like I have lost a part of myself to some force unknown. I have become tangled in the darkness, a slave to my own ambition. Do you know how I met Gamzee?"

"The crazy one?"

She nodded. "I almost killed him in an alley after he ambushed me. Do I think I went right there? Not in the slightest."

"Then why do it?"

"Because," she ran her hands through her hair, "because it takes away from the pain."

"Numbing something doesn't make it go away. You have to face this issue to overcome it. Tell me what hurts."

"What hurts?" She could feel an uncharacteristic fury building inside. How could she not know? "What hurts is that you _left_ me after leading me to believe we had something ageless. Something tangible, some kind of anchor. That, even if I had lost every other person in my life, I would have you. My parents, my adoptive mother, my friends—I would still have you. But I don't."

"But you _do_."

"How can I have you? How can I have you if John has you? How can we _both_ have you?" she snapped, rage and tears boiling over.

Rose glanced around guiltily. "I can't be there for you like _that_, Kanaya, but we can still be friends. You were—_are_ a valuable person to me, and I still want to be _friends_ with you. Being something more is completely out of the question."

"You have your life to live, and I have mine."

"So, are we friends, then?"

"I have to think about it." Kanaya turned on her heel, composed herself, and tried to forget.

* * *

**=== Whoa, what _happened_ between those two?**

Wait..._you're back!? _Where did you go?! It's been more than two chapters!

**=== Sorry, We haven't had any comments.**

Oh. Sure. No comments. _Eyeroll._ Well then, what next?

**=== Vriska: Try to pay attention**

* * *

Kanaya was talking. Vriska wasn't paying attention, but she could see the other girl's lips moving. The meeting had been called about blah-di-blah at blah-blah time and was important because blah. Not worth her time.

"How do you expect us to get to the village?"

That voice piqued her interest. She turned to her right, where Tavros was uncomfortably seated in a tiny red chair with little rotted wooden legs. He looked so cute with that serious look on his face—

Stay focused, Vriska. Listen, don't gawk.

"The main entrance is completely blocked off, the only way out is through the cellars."

Vriska dragged her eyes away from Tavros to observe the mentally-distraught Kanaya, who was biting her lip. Gamzee had disappeared less than half an hour ago, which had set her on edge. This information about the door was doing a number on her friend's psyche, turning her face into a battleground of worry and uneasiness.

"I—I do not know. I suppose we shall have to traverse the cellars, then, if that is the only way out. I do doubt the windows can be used as exits; that would be too easy, and this is Game is anything but."

Vriska looked around the room. Sollux was slouching so much he nearly slid under the table while Aradia looked troubled. Karkat was furious, Terezi was annoyed, and Eridan and Feferi were across the room from each other, not making eye contact. Nepeta was trying not to care about something, Equius was—he was taking notes, the overachieving bastard, Gamzee was missing as previously stated, John and Rose were off doing something involving chemistry, and Dave and Jade were helping.

Huh, was that really everyone?

"The cellars are going to be much more dangerous now that _someone's_ left their pet off its leash," Karkat huffed. Terezi elbowed him.

Kanaya, serious as ever, glowered. "Maybe next time you should make it clear it wasn't _your turn to walk it._"

"He is a pet, isn't 'e?" Sollux asked, a grin spreading on his face. "Can't really chain 'im up so well. We'll 'ave to go a' hunting, catch th' bloody oaf up in some trap or somefing."

"That sounds like a _horrible_ idea," Aradia countered, grimacing from what Vriska understood to be the spirits of the dead rising around her.

"No, it does not." Kanaya turned so her back was to Karkat and his rude gestures. "Gamzee was able to ward of the spirits due to his declining mental state. If we managed to convince him—"

"But he's gone _mental_," Vriska interjected. "He's battier than my great-aunt Tessie. How do you expect to convince him of _anything?"_

"I have my ways."

"Got any ideas that _don't_ involve your skirts?"

_"Karkat!"_

"_OUCH!_ Jesus, Terezi, watch where you're swinging that thing!"

"Could you _stop talking _for all of two minutes?! Kanaya's trying to explain something!"

"Which wouldn't need to be explained if she hadn't _lost Gamzee_ half an hour ago!"

"Do you think _you_ could've done any better?"

"Um, yes. I do, and I would have if fish-face hadn't gone and lost his shit at four-eyes."

"We boff wear glasses, KK, an' so does the Lady in Blue over in th' corner."

"You're not helping my argument."

"Your argument wouldn't need help if you weren't so wrong and I wasn't so kicking your ass and—"

"I FOUND A BIG SEA MONSTER."

The room turned to stare at Feferi, who had turned pink after blurting out her absurd sentence. "Sorry. Everyone was getting all angry and I—"

"You found a Guide?" Kanaya asked, composing herself.

"Erm, I believe so. Her name is G'l—"

"Spare our eardrums," Eridan muttered across the table, averting his gaze from her stunned face.

"...She has a weird name."

"Tavros and I found one earlier, too," Vriska said in a bored tone. "That, and one of the other players. He kinda looked like the gilled-boy-wonder over there."

Eridan arched an eyebrow. "Like _me?_"

"Called himself the Prince of the Hapsburg Empire."

"Hapsburg as in the ruling family of _Austria-Hungary?_ The empire disbanded after the Great War. That means we've gone back in time, doesn't it?" Nepeta asked.

"Not necessar'ly. Sees, this whole existence is strange business. It's where time comes to die, in a sense. Eras that don't 'appen back home 'appen 'ere. And theys run their course in this 'ole in the web o' fings. We're in a blip in reality, and it'll take some mighty strong forces to spirit us back the way we came." Sollux steepled his hands. The rest of the room screwed up their faces into a spectrum of confusion.

Karkat raised an eyebrow. "Once more in English?"

Sollux turned to Vriska, avoiding his friend's question. "Wot can you tell me 'bout hot-head's doppelgänger?"

How was she going to explain this? "He was—it was the strangest thing, really. Would you rather us show you to him?"

"Why not?"

"I'm coming too," Aradia added.

"Should we all split up?"

"I'll go with Terezi and Karkat," Eridan offered.

"Like _fuck _you're coming with me."

"Well _I'm_ not letting him go with Sollux, so he's staying with us," Terezi snapped.

"Are they just constantly arguing?" Tavros whispered to Vriska.

She nodded. As long as she'd known the two of them, they were either at each other's throats...or clothes.

"That leaves Feferi to join Nepeta and Equius."

Karkat frowned. "Are you seriously thinking of going alone, Kanaya?"

"What do you care? Were you not just ridiculing me no more than ten minutes prior?"

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I want you do get killed—"

"I can take care of myself," she said coldly and exited the room, leaving the rest of the occupants with open mouths.

* * *

Vriska sighed. This was getting too crazy. She was trying to lead her party back to the odd ballroom that wasn't far from one of the cellar entrances, but she couldn't find a single familiar landmark. This was bogus.

"I swear it was just around this corner."

"Perhaps it's moved? Isn't the castle...alive?" Aradia asked. She was looking worse than before, pale as a porcelain doll and stumbling over her own feet.

"I really, really hope not. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes." She smiled weakly. "I'm fine, don't worry about me."

Vriska wasn't buying it. She glanced at Sollux. He didn't believe her either. Tavros was ahead of the group, checking handles and fighting with locks. It looked like this was going to be an utterly pointless mission—

"I found it!"

"You _what?_ This isn't even the right hallway!"

"Doesn't matter! Come look!"

The other three hurried to where Tavros stood beaming in front of a set of old wooden doors, the white paint peeling off like the dust on a moth's wing.

Vriska furrowed her brow. "These aren't the right doors."

"Are you sure?"

She nodded. "They were immaculately white with a golden trim."

"Perhaps they weren't, though," he said and pulled on one of the doors. It creaked horribly as it was forced open, showering the stained carpet in flakes of paint.

Inside was the ballroom.

But it was not the ballroom in which she had danced.

It had the same layout. The windows in the back let grey light flood onto the old, deteriorating floor. The long threadbare carpet that covered part of the floor had yellowed from age and mildew. Cobwebs were strung from the ceiling and the pillars, a thick layer of dust coating every surface. The chairs in the very back of the room were moth-eaten and seemed to have been out of use for years.

"I can just feels me allergies screaming," Sollux said, lifting a hand to his mouth.

"I don't understand," Tavros muttered.

"He wasn't kidding, was he?" She turned to her companions. "The Look-Alike Ampora boy, he said that time was occurring in the room through a stable loop. Once he left, time became unstable and reverted."

Aradia wandered in to the sad, empty space. "This is how it is now, and that is how it was then. It was a memory of his, living where it once flourished."

The group turned to look at her.

"Memories come alive in this castle, allowing one to see their past, and possibly unwillingly relive their past mistakes in a torturous, vicious cycle."

"How do you—"

"They say important things sometimes, the ghosts. It's not all moaning and pleading." She closed her eyes. "That's why the others don't like to come here. They can see everything that happened, the good and the bad. Their lives and their—"

"_Shit!_"

Startled, the four-person party flipped around to the source of the voice.

"Just missed them, didn't I? God _dammit_."

Vriska opened her mouth to speak, but instead made a confused noise.

A girl with long dark hair stood in the doorway. She was dressed in a fashion that Vriska didn't recognize; she wore a heavy metallic corset _outside_ her blouse, knee-length men's trousers, and a pair of tall brown boots. Bizarre, to say the least. To top it off, she carried a strange sort of bladed implement of which Vriska did not want to be on the wrong side.

She squinted at the group. "You're the newbies, aren't you?"

"The _whats_?"

"The new sixteen. What are your names?"

"I'm Vriska, and these three are my teammates, Tavros, Aradia, and Sollux."

"Huh, you look a bit like Aranea." She cocked her head. "Has she gone by recently?"

"Who?"

"The other blue girl. Funny glasses, wears a dress, bookish, doesn't shut up?"

They shook their heads.

She grumbled. "Any sign of Cronus or Meenah?"

"We saw Cronus maybe an hour ago? But he was in this room."

The girl nodded. "He's always in this room. He hasn't let go of what happened yet, though it feels like it's been millennia since anything—nevermind. His business. Where could they have gotten off to? I forgot how big this castle was..."

"Excuse me, but who are _you?_"

"Porrim, The Jade Dragon."

"Jade...wait. _We_ have a Jade Dragon. Kanaya."

"Is that what my parallel's called? Pretty name, I hope to meet her soon."

"What do you need to find the other ones for?"

"Oh, I don't care much about finding _them_. They've got their own business they're wrapped in. It's the Mime I'm after."

"The _Mime?_" they asked in collective confusion.

The one called Porrim scowled. "The Mime. Tall, scraggly hair, doesn't look too right in the head. Likes to hide in the shadows a lot."

"Erm—"

"No, then. You'd know immediately if you had seen him. Hard to miss. But the clever devil gets a gold star in hide-and-go-seek. Finding him is the challenge."

"Is he—"

The floor shook under their feet and Porrim swore. "Likes the weird creatures, sounds like _someone_ found him."

* * *

**=== Gamzee: Turn up in the worst possible place**

_"Nuts."_

In his rush, he'd run down the wrong hallway. This wasn't whom he wanted to see at all.

"Sort of looks like _that_," the tall shapely girl said to Gamzee's fellow players.

Her appearance was suspiciously like—

"Where'd the green sister come from?"

His four teammates were struck dumb by the nonchalant behavior. Oh, this? This he could keep up. As long as he didn't laugh.

"Gamzee," Tavros said nervously, "you look, erm, okay."

"As do you, friends."

"Are you all right?"

"Never been better." Wink, cheeky smile.

He could see the green one and the Serket girl share a look. They were suspicious of him. Tut tut. Unacceptable. He was _perfectly fine_, as far as they needed to be aware.

_Just don't hurt Tavros,_ the Good side of him muttered. Right. No hurting Tavros, Karkat, and Kanaya...okay, hurting Kanaya a _teeny _bit was fine as long as she begged for it on her—

Now was not fantasy time. That was earlier.

The floor rumbled again, the stones screaming with each little quake. Jesus, he was getting closer. What had happened down there? Everything was fine all of ten minutes ago. Lousy bastard can't even control himself for _ten goddamn minutes—_

"Where'd everyone else wander off to?"

"They went looking for _you_," Vriska snarled.

Gamzee watched as Tavros took Vriska's hand.

Oh?

He couldn't hurt his friend...but what about _her?_

Oh. Yes.

But...Maybe..._oh yes. _That was a _much_ better idea.

Four birds with one stone.

Fuck this sane disguise.

He called to the monsters in the shadows. The screeched in reply, rupturing the stones and ripping open the floor, causing a huge gash to run through the hallway. Creatures made of nightmares and fear lifted themselves from the crack that led to the cellars. Beasts of blackness and void.

One, two, three.

* * *

**=== Vriska: Do the worst possible thing**

The screaming was the most rattling part of the whole scene. The...the..._things_ crawling from the deepest pit of hell were shrieking in both high and low voices, a chorus of utter devilry and chaos. Next, Aradia was screaming.

"_They're everywhere, everywhere. I can't stop them. Get out get out get out."_

Souls, mutilated and tortured, erupted around the party. Cold seeped from their plasma bodies, sucking dry any sense of hope and joy from the space. Vriska shivered, feeling nothing but despair.

She leapt back as a pair of black tentacles raced to curl around her legs. Birds with leathery wings and human teeth circled above Aradia, calling in dissonant chords to one another. They dove.

A burst of red-and-blue light knocked them down.

Sollux was hovering over the fallen girl, eyes trained on the approaching monstrosities.

"I've got 'er covered. Go do somefing 'bout the wretched imp!"

Vriska nodded and ducked out of the way as an overgrown cat with two heads lunged. She ran by Porrim, who seemed to be doing all right with her rotary saw. Tavros was somehow turning the beasts against one another. Psychic powers, too? It wasn't _so _improbable, given the circumstances.

Gamzee was sitting on top of a huge black chimera, which was guarding the rip in the floor. Its top-half was a goat, but the bottom was all tentacles and suction cups. Human arms and legs stuck out of its body, its flanks oozing like a gelatinous substance. Globs of body parts were falling onto the floor like toxic slime as eyes and tongues emerged out of the flesh of its torso.

It opened the two mouths on its head, roaring at her with the rank breath of ammonia and decay.

Vriska felt sick.

"Up for a fight, _Ser-ket? _Or have you forgotten a weapon, hmm?" Gamzee asked with a malicious smile.

"Fuck you, Makara! I will _clobber _your sorry ass!"

...Yeah, she had forgotten a weapon.

A tentacle latched around her leg and threw her off balance.

It whipped her closer to the beast, dragging her upwards to its salivating mouths. She was a minute from being monster chow.

Her heartrate skyrocketed as she was carried nearer and nearer to the creature. She closed her eyes, focusing hard on her will to live. She needed to do something—_anything_—to break this monster's hold on her, release her from the chains that encased her.

A symbol arose in her mind. It wasn't something she recognized, but maybe, maybe—

A blood-curdling wail ripped from the chimera's lungs as it released Vriska. She fell hard, hitting the floor with a loud thud. The fall knocked the wind out of her, dizzying her already damaged mental process. She couldn't see straight—

The monstrous chimera howled in agony as the one tentacle she had control over tried to coil around its front legs. The beast was having none of it, curling three oversized tentacles around her, squeezing her body like a group of angry pythons.

Vriska tried to let her mind relax. This was getting tighter and tighter—both the chimera's grip on her and the situation. What was she to do? She reached out to anything controllable. Anything—

Oh. No. No. Oh god no. Not—no this wasn't the right—this was—_no_—

Red and blue sparked throughout the area, illuminating the darkness and blinding anything within visual range.

Vriska was dropped once again, this time from a lower height. She stood up at once but froze. She needed to run into the ballroom—her mind was screaming at her to run—but she couldn't move. The monsters around her fled back down into the crevice in the floor, but she didn't budge.

Shock settled in and she shivered, her body both hotter than the sun and colder than liquid nitrogen. She was a statue, her limbs made of lead. It wasn't until she heard the scream that she could comprehend what happened. Slowly, her feet made of clay, she approached the doors.

The first thing she saw was the blood.

Red and candy-colored, it spread far across the wooden floor, filling up the cracks and rushing in all directions at once. It was splattered on the walls, on the pillars, on the windows.

Aradia's lifeless body lay in the center, burned and bleeding. She looked so miniscule in a pool of her own blood.

Sollux was sitting beside her, almost as soaked as she was. Her blood speckled his cheeks, stained his hands, and drenched his sleeves. He held her in his arms, clutching a vial to the wound through her chest with his shaking hands. He was trying hard to steady them in an attempt to catch a silvery liquid trickling out of her damaged heart.

"Of course this only 'appens to the people I care about," Sollux muttered, his voice breaking. "Only ever those I care about."

Vriska opened her mouth—to speak, to apologize, to say _something_—but no words came out. What could she possibly say in this situation? What could _possibly_ make things better?"

She swallowed hard and fought back her emotions. "Sollux, I—"

"I do not want to hear anyfing from _you_," he snapped, importance rising back into his tone. "You lot need t' find Equius and bring 'im 'ere _immediately_. And you need to go fast, or else she'll be lost for good."

"Where—"

"_GO!"_

Vriska once again stood motionless. Tavros grabbed her by the hand and dragged her out as Porrim approached the emotionally-injured Sollux and the former body of Aradia, whose skin had such a pallor she now matched tone with the ghosts that used to haunt her.

They began down the hall from which they came, hoping to possibly catch Equius' group on a similar trail.

"Vriska, what happened back there?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"What do you—"

"_I don't want to talk about it!"_ she hissed, confusion welling up inside. "I don't know what happened or how it happened or why. And I don't want to think about it too much, okay?"

"Did you—"

"Of _COURSE NOT!"_ She whipped around to face Tavros head-on. "Why would I _purposely _do that? What _point _would there be?"

Tavros was quiet a moment. "That wasn't even the question I intended to ask." They turned a corner. "So you know how it happened, or—"

"No, not exactly! I just...I was strung up by that damn monster of Gamzee's and I was looking for something to—I was looking for a way to fight back." She sighed and it all came flowing out. "So I took hold of the nearest mind, I guess, I don't know what happened to be completely honest, or how it occurred, I just know I somehow got ahold of Sollux, who was charging a psychic beam and I—I don't know. It sort of...went down hill from there."

She hiccuped. Oh goddamn—fuck. Her throat was tightening. She was still in shock. She was still attempting to grasp the fact that she, Vriska Serket, had murdered a childhood friend via that friend's object of affection. And now here she was, on the verge of tears. She never cried in front of anyone. Ever.

Vriska took off down the hall, racing as fast as her legs would carry her. Unacceptable, unacceptable, _unacceptable_. What would her mother say?

Her mother. Oh god. Her face grew hot. How was her mother? Would she ever see her again? Hear her voice? Would they ever make it out of this mess of a game?

She flew into an open room—a library—and curled up at the base of a bookcase. This was so unlike her. The crying, these emotions, _this_ _doubt_. This couldn't be Vriska Serket, the Marquise's daughter. They must have switched her out with a double earlier. This wasn't her, this couldn't be her. She would never—she _could_ never—she wasn't a pansy. She was strong. She was _confident_.

And she was also small, and so alone, and so _frightened._

"Vriska?"

She glanced up to see Tavros in the threshold, out-of-breath and worried.

"Go away," she mumbled.

"What?"

"I said _go away_. I don't want you to see me like this."

"Well too bad, because I'm not going to just _leave_ you here."

"I. Do not. Like it. When people. _See me cry,_" she choked out in her most menacing voice, which sounded utterly pathetic in her shaken state.

He disregarded her warning and stepped into the room. Vriska shuffled backwards, not liking this invasion of her space, space that she desperately needed.

"No closer," she hissed.

"Vriska—"

"I repeat. I do not like it when people see me cry. I don't like it when anyone sees me broken and torn up and emotionally volatile. Not even my _family_. So please, just leave me alone."

"Nope." He held his hand out for her, which she accepted reluctantly, and pulled her to her feet, taking her shoulders in his hands. He was so much taller than her, and it upset her further. "Look at me, please."

"Why?"

"Because I want to talk to you and I'd rather talk to your pretty face, not the top of your head." He nudged her chin up gently. She scowled. "Which is equally as pretty."

"Idiot," she muttered.

"Whatever happened, I trust it wasn't your fault, okay? I believe you. Don't beat yourself up about it, please? I know you're probably feeling a bit..._delicate_, right now, from the shock and all. I'm not saying you _are_ delicate, though! You're a strong girl, one of the toughest I know—"

"You must know a lot of gelatin women," Vriska chuckled humorlessly.

"I'm telling you the truth. You're a strong, brave girl and you'll be okay. Everything will be okay. Have some faith in whatever Sollux is planning, all right?"

"I don't think I'll ever have faith in his zany schemes—"

Tavros pulled her into a firm hug. She didn't like hugs, she didn't like hugs, she didn't—

"Stop _squirming_ so much!" he said with a laugh, dropping a small kiss on her forehead.

Fine. Maybe she _did _like hugs. Just a little.

"We still have to find Equius," Vriska said into Tavros' chest.

"We should do that, then." He let released her slowly, bending to kiss her cheek.

"And don't ever, _ever_ mention—" she gesticulated wildly, "—_this_ to anyone _ever_, got it?"

"I got it."

"Or there will be _serious_ consequences."

"Understood." He took her hand. "Is this okay?"

"It's fine until you start skipping and humming nursery rhymes."

"Any idea where we'll find Equius?"

Vriska stuck her head out the door and looked around. "Not even a slight—"

"_VRISKA!"_

Nepeta came barreling down the hall, far too agile for a nineteen-year-old girl in shoes. "We heard a lot of crashes earlier! Do you have any idea what happened?"

"How convenient," Tavros whispered.

She elbowed him. "Yes, we were there not long ago. We ran into_ Gamzee,_" she said with a sneer.

Nepeta's face twisted in horror. "You're not—not _hurt_, are you?"

"No, _we _are fine, but the rest of our group is not. Where's Equius?"

On cue, the Titan-strong stoic rounded the corner, Feferi close behind.

"What seems to be the matter?" he asked in that deep, rugged voice Vriska had nearly forgotten, he spoke so infrequently.

"It's Aradia. She's—"

"Take me to her."

* * *

**A/N: **Updating on time? JOKES.

Writer's block is an evil monster and applying to college sucks. Sorry.  
So. Haha. Fun chapter, right?  
(I am so so sorry oh my god this is such a depressing chapter augh I can't write happy things sorry)

AHAHA GAMZEE, SANE, YEAH RIGHT. _**NEVER.**_

But yeah. Some actual fluffy Tavris because we ARE SAILING FOR THE TIME BEING PARTY HARDY EVERYONE.  
Such an inappropriate time holy crap. That and Vriska's _actual_ breakdown. Any idea how hard it is to make out-of-character behavior seem in-character? Hard. VERY HARD.

Phrase of the Chapter: _Hamaxostichus Qui Euolat Duobus Modis_: Latin, roughly meaning "The Train that Travels Two Ways"  
Trivia: Hamaxostichus is New Latin for train.

Thank you to everyone who's actually sticking with me through these AWFUL, BARREN, NO-GOOD WEEKS. Love you all, thank you EVERYONE who reviews and reads and just—all of you. Thank you!


	13. Autumni Caligo

**=== Switch parties**

You are now Marquise Mindfang, and you're more than worried about your daughter's well-being. Because you are being a good mother, for once, you're about to do something stupid.

* * *

Ah. This house. It had been years. The old brownstone stood tall and crooked, leaning awkwardly in the Manhattan twilight. It was the same as before, with maybe a few more years' grime gathered on the stones, a few more cracks, a few more tenants. There were lights on in the upper levels, giving it a warm amber gaze against the gristly grey of the sky. The winds blew her towards the steps, trying to encourage the meeting that would undoubtedly go sour. She climbed the white stairs to the door, feeling nervous for the first time in what felt like a century. Was it okay to knock? Should she have telegramed in advance? Sent someone over earlier in the day?

_Calm down, dear, you're an adult. Stop worrying and alert them to your presences._

The Marquise stood on the stoop, knocking gently with the oversized brass bull's head. Three times in quick succession, twice more a beat apart. It was the beginning of some song lost to her for a few autumns, something she would not recall. She inhaled sharply, knowing inside was a cold, stern man who would turn into a fire with the wrong word. She had not danced in a long while, and all it took was one false step.

A burley man with a dark mocha fedora opened the door. He sized her up, from the wide-brimmed feathered hat, collar of sapphires, and Mediterranean-styled dress to the outlines of two holsters, jewel-hilt sword, and thick leather boots. From his confused face, she could tell the underling had no idea what to make of her. She was a beauty unknown to his eye, but there was an edge to her; a blade running deep into her character that affected the way she stood, how high she held her chin, the fluctuating glint of power in her eyes.

"Whaddya want? That's our knock, and I ain't seen yous 'round here before."

"I'm here to see your boss."

"An' who might you be?"

"An old flame."

He looked skeptical.

God, she didn't have time for this. "Tell your master that the Marquise would like to speak, and if he is busy, she will play cards with his men until they have run out of things to barter." Her tone was even and crisp, deflecting from the uncertainty and dread she felt.

Eyebrow raise. "_The _Marquise?"

"The one and only in _his_ life."

"I think you ought'a follow me, Miss."

The house inside was how she remembered it; old and outdated. The ceilings were low in some rooms and grand in others. Stuffy brass chandeliers hung in many of the downstairs rooms and the stairs still creaked under her light steps. Everything was wood and it was all polished to shine brighter than sterling silver in the moonlight. It was all shades of brown with scattered blues and the occasional red and green. She smiled to herself, remembering when he had picked it all out, not realizing that nearly every glimmer of color in the house was blue, her color, her signature. It had been interesting to watch his reaction, flustered and embarrassed.

It was a clean house, tidy. Almost too hard to believe that it was host to such illicit activities. How had the man raised his son in this environment? Quite well, considering the man in question.

Up three tightly-spaced spiral staircases, down two twisty halls, and across a never-ending rug, she wound up outside the door of his study. The man who greeted her at the door had long departed; he'd be reprimanded if he disturbed the Boss at this time of day.

Three light taps on the door should be sufficient, right?

The man behind the door hadn't aged a day. He was still tall and slim, his shoulders broad as ever. His dark hair was free of grey, retaining the chestnut color of his youth. It had been styled back with gel, but as always, his hair wasn't having it, revolting and spiking up in random spots. His olive skin was unlined, though his eyes spoke of better days.

"Spinneret?"

"Hello, old friend. Is it too early still?"

He looked around nervously. "Maybe a little."

She forced herself into the room. Only so much respect she could have when her child—both of their children—was in so much danger. "Sill have too many dogs to count?" She strode to the huge bookcase in the back of the study, carefully lifting a creased leatherbound from its spot.

"Erm, no, not anymore."

"Pity." She cast him a glance capable of cracking diamonds. "Gave this place a feeling of life."

"What do you want exactly, Spinneret?"

"Not much."

He sighed. "Can't you give me one straight answer? You've been toying with me for years, starting way before the death of Lu—"

"_I didn't kill her," _she hissed, tossing the book carelessly on his desk. "I've told you hundreds—_thousands_—of times that I _did not harm your wife._"

It was his turn to glare. "I have sources that say otherwise."

"Sources? What sources, Ru? Are they the same ones that say I killed my husband as well?"

His eyes widened. "Jeffery—dead? Did you—"

"No, I did _not_ kill my own husband. Why would I marry him, have a child, and then _kill_ him? What _sense_ is there in that?"

He opened his mouth and closed it, looking noticeably fish-like. "I'm sorry, I just—"

"Jumped to conclusions because of the past. I had no motives for killing Lucette. I liked her, thought she was a vast improvement from your last girlfriend."

"I'm not so sure about _vast_."

"I was no good for you. Same way my daughter's no good for your son."

"_What?_"

"Sorry, I may have encouraged her. Speaking of which, they've entered Eschaton."

"...You're kidding."

"No, Ru, I'm not. Look." She pulled out a rectangular gadget with a bright screen.

"What is that?"

"It's from inside the Game. See those little colored dots? They're locations."

He took the tablet from her. There were twenty-three blinking lights in a strange, maze-like grid. Seven of the colors repeated. "When did this happen?"

"Midday."

"Is there anything we can do to help?"

"You know the rules; they only return if they win."

He swore. "Then they're already gone, aren't they? Isn't it impossible to win?"

She shook her head. "No, not exactly. They've a shot. A small one, but still a shot."

"How small?"

She grimaced.

"Oh."

"They're still _mostly_ safe. One has died; my daughter's maid."

"Dead-dead?"

She shook her head. "First life. They should be able to revive her.

"And if they don't?"

"Well then, she'll be dead-dead." She flicked the device off. "I need to show this to another old lover who happens to be in town. Care to join?"

* * *

**=== Nepeta: Assist Equius**

The room was dark and full of dust. The first priority had been to move Aradia's body somewhere lighter and possibly more sterile, but the amount of blood still pouring forth from her corpse wasn't a promising sign, especially when there was no way to lift her without touching the body. Instead, Equius had set up shop inside the room with as many candles as they could find.

Things were not looking too good. There weren't enough parts, there was blood _everywhere_, and time was slipping by. Sollux hadn't moved more than two feet from Aradia's body since they arrived, and was attempting to conduct the procedure himself.

"Are you sure you can save her?" Nepeta whispered during one of the rare times that Sollux was out of earshot.

"I cannot _save_ the dead, Nepeta, but I can tie her spirit to a mechanical husk, yes."

Her face took on a look of confusion. "You _can_? How?"

"Science, mostly, along with that vial Sollux has and one of Rose's fabled books. Why do you ask?'

"I'm under the impression Sollux may break if this doesn't go purrfectly."

Equius muttered something too low to hear, fussing with an array of gears.

"What?"

"I need another one of these—" he held up a bronze cog three inches in diameter, "—and I need you to fetch Sollux again. He can be quite useful."

"What about _me_?"

"You are very useful, Nepeta, however, you do not understand robotics as well as he."

She _hmphed_ and slunk off, dismissed in favor of goggle-boy. Who was talking to the angry one. Fan-tucking-fastic.

"Equius needs you," she said, tapping on Sollux's shoulder. She quickly turned and—

Caught. There was a hand on _her_ shoulder now.

"Wait, Nepeta, do you know where Porrim went?"

_Only if you apologize to me. _Nepeta stared at Karkat's chin, trying to avoid his eyes. "She said something about looking for help. They had a healer on their team."

Karkat nodded. "Terezi and I should head out soon. Tell Equius we've gone to search for Rose."

"Okay," Nepeta said, inclining her head slightly. "I can do that."

"You're not leaving _'im_ here wif me, are you?" Sollux asked bitterly, thumb in Eridan's direction.

"Sorry, mate, can't deal with him _and_ Terezi at the same time. Good luck."

"I hate you."

Karkat apologized again and scurried off to find Terezi. Sollux stopped looking okay the second Karkat turned his back.

"I'm really sorry, Sol."

"It's not your fault. Th' only person who can take the blame is Vriska, an' I'm not quite well sure I _want_ to blame 'er. It wasn't 'er fault, either. Just somefing that 'appens."

Nepeta nearly snorted. Just something that happens? Killing your friends was _not _just something that happens. That should be far from normal, regardless of the friendship.

"How do you fink she's doing?"

"I don't think I can answer that."

"Good, 'cause I'm not so sure I want one."

* * *

Nepeta was struck with a new task the moment she returned to Equius: find parts. She was now hunting around, searching the nearby rooms for mechanical parts. This was almost a routine for them. They didn't need to speak to communicate for a task this trivial, but Sollux was unable to follow them as they went. He stayed back to help Equius with the fiddly bits.

They were building an automaton.

A hollow body to house Aradia's soul, which Sollux had collected in a little vial. It seemed that the laws of reality didn't apply to this space, allowing such a silly thing as soul collection to be physically possible. The machine was to have the same measurements as Aradia's body (though Sollux kept suggesting wider hips. Equius glared) and be able to move fluidly. Nepeta wasn't good at mechanics, so she didn't fully understand the plans they had been describing. She was perfectly content with part collection.

The corridors got narrower and narrower as she wandered further and further from the room. If she stopped long enough, she could feel a vibration. It was deep, shaking her bones and sending shivers up her back.

"It's alive, the castle."

She barreled to a wall and crouched, looking for the source of the voice.

"Oh, come, I'm not that scary."

Nepeta looked up.

There, standing sideways on one of the pillars, was a girl with sharp teeth.

She had big fuchsia eyes like Feferi, but she was not Feferi. Huge silver goggles rested on the top of her head, a spindly iron wrench in one hand. Her boots were thigh-height and black, her blouse white and buttoned all wrong. She wore a man's cravat, and an assortment of tool belts clung snugly from her waist to her hips.

She wasn't scary. She was terrifying.

"I—"

"You what? It's not like I'm going to _hurt_ you."

"How can I trust you?"

"I'm with the green lady and the _obnoxious_ purple boy. Out of _that_ lot, you can trust me the most."

"The green lady?"

"Porrim, the green chick who just ran down this way."

Nepeta wrinkled her nose. "Who are you?"

The shark-toothed girl grinned wide. "I'm Meenah, and I'm here to save your asses."

* * *

**=== Aradia: Dance to Fauré's _Sicilienne_**

It was a song that reminded her of the harvest, not that it happened to _be_ about the harvest, though. It always came along in fall, on those dreary, foggy days when the brown ground was smothered by the leaves of cardinal, goldenrod, and poppy.

The leaves would stir up as she danced the slow, enchanting dance. It felt strange that she should be so detached, so _dispassionate_ while all her friends had to be doleful in her passing.

Death changed some things. It wasn't an end, but it wasn't a beginning. It was a middle. Aradia knew that now, a thing she would never have imagined while she lived. No one did, she assumed. Even in death, one picked up a newfound understanding of life. Funny how these things always worked backwards.

She stopped her light waltz abruptly, her progress impeded by an object on the ground.

"Oh, not you too."

It was a body, wrapped in a sable suit, lustrous and silken. The hands were folded neatly over the chest, a small tangle of lilacs clutched in white gloves. Aradia knelt down next to the body, her white, flowing dress easily covering her knees. She pushed back the dark tawny fringe, cradling the head.

"_Fall, leaves, fall; die, flowers, away;_

_ Lengthen night and shorten day;_

_ Every leaf speaks bliss to me_

_ Fluttering from the autumn tree._

_ I shall smile when wreaths of snow_

_ Blossom where the rose should grow;_

_ I shall sing when night's decay_

_ Ushers in a drearier day."_

Aradia looked down at the stiff, unmoving body. "Don't you like the poem?" If she had more tears to spend, she'd relinquish them for her poor, pale friend. But alas, 'twas not right, no more could she do for this fight.

"It was not your time to go, nor was it mine. We left early and I am awake, but still you sleep. Neither of us belongs to the fall, yet in her leaves we are trapped, cradled in the mist with her muses of wind and decay."

She bent to kiss the forehead, pallid and ashen as the dead, grey embers of a long-past fire. She felt a smile creep onto her lips, grim and cheerless. "You look symmetrical, like a circle. You would have detested this suit, had you breath to speak."

Aradia lay down next to the body, feeling her throat tighten. "You must have loved autumn, with the changing nature and multicolored leaves. When the nights mirrored the days and the fog ran parallel to the ground. Do you remember what it was like back home, with the sun always missing and the clouds frowning down? The smell of a hearth constantly hanging 'round?"

"Of course I love the fall," he said with a smile. "I can't say I love your rhymes, though."

"Oh, sorry. Have you passed on too?"

He sucked in a breath. "Not _exactly_."

"What do you mean, _not exactly_?"

* * *

**=== Feferi: Help stabilize the idiot**

No one had seen what happened. Of course, _something _had gone terribly wrong, as per usual, and there was _yet another_ injury. More blood, more erratic, frenzied freak-outs.

_I am _so_ glad Mother made me learn about medicine. _Feferi wrapped another string of torn fabric around the wound. "Christ, Sollux, what were you _thinking_?"

"I'm not 'zactly sure if I remember," he replied with a cough.

"We have to worry about you now, too, along with Aradia."

"I saw her."

"You were delirious, of course you did. You smacked your head hard enough to break your _skull_."

"Did I?"

"I'm not all that sure I want to check."

"He probably just split the skin," Eridan muttered from her side.

"Hush. You're not helping."

Her hands resting on Sollux's exposed skin, she could feel that he didn't know what happened. That wasn't a step in the right direction.

"She was wearing white, reciting poetry to me."

"I think you were dreaming."

Feferi gave Eridan a light tap on his cheek, trying to steer him away from the newly wounded party member. He grumbled, but stayed put. She could _feel_ his jealousy dancing on her fingers. Splendid. Another thing to worry about.

"I'm going to go look for some antibiotics. You're coming with me, grumpy-gills, I don't want you and him left unattended."

"What, do you think we're gonna start kissin' or somethin'?" Eridan said with a laugh.

Images flocked to her brain, sullied and lecherous. She colored. "N-no, I think you're going to hurt him _further_. Or that he'll clobber _you_."

Who could look after Sollux for her, now that he was bandaged and capable of sitting up without wavering? She looked about the room; Nepeta was missing, Equius was busy, Karkat and Terezi had left, Kanaya was missing...

"Vriska?"

The slightly younger girl was curled up in one of the broad bay windows in the back of the room. She was leaning on Tavros, who was whispering something to her, an arm around her waist. He seemed perturbed and nervous. Feferi felt she was intruding.

"Yes?" Her voice was small, reserved. Feferi wasn't expecting such a change in demeanor. Vriska was doing much worse than she thought.

"I was wondering—I have to go fetch a proper medical kit—do you think you can look after Sollux for me? Everyone else is busy or gone."

"I'll do it," Tavros offered.

"No, it's fine, I can handle it. I'm emotionally distraught, not physically crippled." She squirmed out of Tavros' arms and slid off the sill. "I'll look after your lover-boy if you take your boyfriend with you."

Feferi narrowed her eyes. "I am not involved with _either_ of them."

Vriska shrugged. "Whatever you say."

Still had some fight in her, it seemed. Ugh, bratty teenagers. Feferi returned to where Eridan was making faces at Sollux (who was making them back), took his wrist, and dragged him from the depressing ballroom.

"What was _that_ all about?"

"What was _what_ all about?"

"That fit of—of—_jealousy_."

Eridan opened his mouth to rebuke.

"No, don't start with me, I can feel your emotions, remember? You were so jealous it was practically coming off in _waves_. How are we supposed to test this theory if you glower and sneer at every person who gets within a foot of me?"

"Well, what if I changed my mind?"

"Changed your mind? Really?"

"Yes, Fef, what if I decided I don't think I want to share you?"

"What if you—I'm not _yours_ to share! I'm not anyone's to share. _I am my own person!_"

Eridan bit his lip, cornered. "I never said you weren't. It's just that—I've already given you a little part of me, and I was sorta hopin' that maybe you'd give me part of you. Not as somethin' to control, more like a reminder..."

...What. "I don't understand."

"Of course not." He looked down, dejected. "Forget I said anythin'."

Feferi looked up at the decrepit, crumbling ceiling, with its paint peeling and the pillars broken at their crests. This would not—_could not_—end well. "Look, can we not make any promises right now? There's a lot of...a lot of _shit_ happening at the moment and everything's more scrambled than it should be. Can we put off our feelings for maybe a few hours?"

"On one condition."

Feferi sighed. He was in no position to be demanding things of _her_. However, she supposed she could humor him. "What condition?"

He said nothing, but leaned in and kissed her gently, his confusion and desire flooding her senses. "Promise me you won't think less of me at the end of all this."

"I promise."

* * *

**=== Vriska: Watch Sollux**

He seemed fine. A bit rattled and smashed up about the head, but other than that, he was okay. Vriska sat beside him in an uncomfortable once-white chair. There was virtually no lighting in this damn room, with the grey echos of an outside world the only source of brightness in the dim room. The eerie illumination cast strange shadows on Sollux's injured face.

"What happened to you?" she asked quietly, knowing this was all her fault before he opened his mouth.

"I f'ought I heard her calling me, so I turned around an' smacked me 'ead on _somefing_, not quites sure wot though. An' then I saw her again. In some queer forest, wif a white sky and a white ground. She seemed perfectly fine."

"Did you _die_?"

"I'm still 'ere, aren't I?"

"This space is too strange, though, I feel we could all wrap ourselves in sheets yet manage to get up and walk afterward."

"You're getting there, yes."

"Then what happened to you, exactly?"

"I fink I saw the place you arrive at when you die, which is she is right now, even though I've got her soul in a—"

"Wait, wait, you have her _soul_?"

Sollux rolled his eyes. "Din' you see me fiddling wif a vial when you went and _blew up Araida_?"

Vriska bit back an insult to the accusation. "Yes."

"Then you should know how it goes. A soul saved is a soul reborn. Equius is building a replica, which can be given life via th' vial of silver fluid."

Vriska watched Equius tinkering with a metal husk. Tavros was running back and forth with all sorts of tools that the barking mad mechanic just _happened_ to carry with him. Tavros was not fully understanding what he was doing. Sollux was better qualified for the job, but lay incapable due to his head wound.

"Do you think it'll work?"

"I'm not sure if I'd trust Equius wif me life as far as I could f'row him, but wif 'ers, I trusts 'im more than me own mum."

"I hope your right. I miss her too, you know."

"'Course I know. She did say good fings 'bout you every now and then." He gave her a lopsided grin. "Do me a favor, though. Go ask 'im how everyfing's coming along. Bit antsy, over here."

"No problem." Vriska rose and crossed the room quickly, nervous about leaving Sollux alone for too long.

Tavros looked up at her approach. "Hey. How is he?"

"Could be a lot worse, could be a lot better," she sighed. "What's going on here?"

"We're building a facsimile of Aradia, according to Equius."

"A _what_?"

"An exact copy. Every detail is to be the same. Little creeped out that he's got all of her measurements." He looked around and lowered his voice. "And I mean _all_."

Vriska arched an eyebrow. "Don't need to know anymore on that subject."

"Then to change the topic, how are you?"

"I'm fine."

"Still in shock?"

She nodded, fiddling with a bracelet.

"Everything's going to be okay, all right? We're going to fix it. You'll be fine, Aradia will be fine. Smile for me?"

Vriska felt the corners of her mouth twitch.

"That is an offensive forgery of a smile."

She chuckled and gave Tavros a grin.

"Better. But only slightly. We've got work to do."

"Not now, though, I have to speak to Equius. Keep at it."

"Will do."

Vriska turned her attention to Equius, who was hovering over a huge steel stretch shaped into a breastplate. This was going to be an odd existence once Araida was summoned from her world of the dead, or wherever she was.

"Sollux would like to know how everything is going."

"It is proceeding well." Equius' voice was low, rumbling, and maybe a tad parched. It had the roughness of a voice that was unused to speaking. Never really was one for words.

"Do you need him for anything?"

Equius looked up from his work, removing his huge black goggles. "Not yet. Later, though, he will have to do the transmission, for it was he who captured her essence."

His stare was deep, threatening, his imperial blue eyes filled with spite and loathing. Vriska shrank under his gaze. "I'll let him know."

"Good."

And he went back to work.

* * *

**=== Kanaya: Explore the basement**

It was incredibly dark in the cellars. She had forgotten in her short time on the upper level _how_ terrifying the dark could be. All around her, things shifted in their place, laughter sounded from the walls, and there was a constant _ba-dump ba-dump_ from somewhere far below the floor, in the very bowls of the castle. The wind kept sweeping back and forth across her, as if the halls were breathing.

She would have liked to say she was unfazed by the macabre of the situation.

But she was very, _very_ fazed.

Twenty minutes underground and the little demons were beginning to appear at the corners of her vision. She could feel her hands shake; her body twitching in the madness, for it was an unnatural environment. The constant laughter alerted her to that.

She was following a trail, which did not make the goose hunt any less wild or directionless. There was a black sludge on the stones of the walls and floor, gurgling and eating away at the limestone. The blackness had mixed with the crimson tone of blood, and it could only be Gamzee's.

He was the only one crazy enough to venture down alone and not be killed. Something about his lunacy was attractive to the creatures down here. Kanaya felt very small with her saw.

The trail ended at a great steel door, a glow of light coming from under the crack. She tugged at the handle, but it was locked.

"You have to bring me the key," chuckled the voice from inside. It sent an arrow of fear up her spine.

"K-key?"

"The big black key, love. It goes in the lock and rumbles the tumblers and voilà. The door opens."

Kanaya backed away slowly.

"Oh, come, love, I can hear you, you know. Leaving. You're not one for puzzles, are you, my dear Kanaya? I'll make it easier; I'll give you instructions. Here," a piece of paper slid out from under the door, "just use this. It's a map. I knew you wouldn't be into something _fun_."

"Now you are being ridiculous. I like fun things."

"Oh yes," he purred, "I know you do. So take the map and find the key. I have a present for you."

"Why not open the door for me?"

"You are completely missing the point of the fun, my dear. Besides, this door locks from the outside. I'm trapped."

_Maybe I should let you rot,_ Kanaya thought bitterly.

"I have other methods of exiting, but they're all…how shall I say…destructive?"

"Piss off, Gamzee."

He phased through the wall, grinning like a—

_HE PHASED THROUGH THE WALL?!_

"Be a good girl and find the key, princess. Your king has no time for plumbers."

* * *

**EDIT: 1/12/2013: **It has been so long since I've updated and here's why**.** I'm in the middle of applying to college and having midterms. That'll be over in a week or two, and I'll FINALLY be able to get back to this. I should hopefully be back to work on this next weekend, January 18 or 19. Sorry everyone! This stuff kills major time and focus.

**A/N:** OH. MY GOD.

So. Actually. I am so glad this is finished. I had it fully drafted before Sandy hit. We lost power for nine days, my computer went screwy, and shit sucked. My laptop (which this was written on) is on life support. It needs a power cord and a monitor, so it wasn't logical to bring it to the library (I instead worked on research for my NaNoWriMo, which has now become a NaDeWriMo, because November SUCKED). Then I had SATs. Then my laptop went and shot itself in the foot and stopped working for two weeks with nothing backed up. I nearly cried. Took it to Apple, they couldn't do anything. Started to rewrite chapter thirteen. Restarted the computer today and IT'S ALIVE. First thing I did? Ripped this from my word processor and COMPLETED IT. YOU SHOULD BE SO HAPPY BECAUSE I AM HAPPY AND PARTY AND YAY.  
I am currently backing EVERYTHING up so this doesn't happen again.  
**Thanks for being patient everyone!**  
/technology problems

For this chapter, could I get some **_legit_ _critique? _**It would be wonderful and me love you long time.

**Thank you everyone who's reviewed and favorited and followed and read this!** It makes my day all day erry day, and honestly there's nothing better than hearing good things about something you've slaved over.

Chapter fun-fact: _Autumni Caligo _is Latin for Autumn Fog

The poem said by Aradia is called _Fall, Leaves, Fall_ and it's by Emily Brontë. You should all be glad I didn't use _I Dread the First Robin So,_ the Emily Dickinson one that had been originally planned.

**I'm considering answering any and all questions you guys have about everything up to this point. READY? GO!**

OLLIES OUTY.


	14. Febris

**=== Kanaya: Promptly get lost**

The map was shit. It was scrawled hastily on the back of a lexicon page. To make matters worse, it wasn't in English. Kanaya didn't recognize the script at all, pegging it for some sort of Eastern language, but it still didn't fit. Pictures were used, but they were…_otherworldly_. It was scratched into the paper with a dark blue ink, rich and thick, staining the underside of the "map".

Map, hah. It was as much a map as the pattern of freckles on her back. Aside from the odd language, there were drawings and shapes. There was an angular eye with a slit pupil, a pinwheel of sharp lines, a pawprint, a caged bird, and a cloak. What could it mean? Nothing, most likely. He was insane, the scrawling of the mentally ill didn't make any sense to begin with.

Kanaya looked up from the ridiculous paper. She had been standing under a flaming torch, whose light was burning brighter when she first arrived. Now its scraggly licks of fire cast ominous shadows down the corridor. A wind blew gently towards her. The scent of decaying meat was heavy on the basement breeze. _Could be any dead animal, _she told herself as her blood began to race through her ears. It wasn't, her gut instinct lobbied hard against her innocent thinking. Nothing down here was good, nothing was innocent, or pure, or, for the love of God, _chaste._ Nothing but sin, smoke, and blood.

She took a deep breath and calmed her nerves. There was no reason to get overly anxious about what—no, no, it was something evil. Anxiety wouldn't help her fight it, however, so she had to remain calm. Calm or anxious, and she couldn't control the rage.

"You're overreacting," his voice purred in her ear.

Kanaya stared blankly into the darkness ahead. Maybe she'd caught his disease, maybe she was hallucinating voices. She ignored the voice and continued forward. There was no reason to panic, none at all. Nope. She was perfectly clear, did not feel the slightest bit dazed or foggy or uncertain.

The hallway split into two sections, both poorly lit. Great.

"I'd suggest a right."

"But I cannot trust you," she said quietly and went left.

Green globs of…something…were leaking from the ceiling, forming small pools at the base of the walls. The substance sizzled when she dropped a strand of hair into one of the oozing puddles. Best not to step in that.

The map said she was very, very far from this supposed key, or at least that's what she guessed, not being able to make out much of the writing. There was a large key drawn on the opposite side from the forked tunnels. She wagered it was a pretty good guess.

"Is this 'map' an attempt to fuck with my mind?" she growled to the voice.

"Fuck with you, get you lost, fuck you, take your pick." The maniacal laugher bounced off the walls.

She shook her head in an attempt to relieve herself from the voice and marched onward.

* * *

**=== Karkat: Hunt for the Rose Human**

"I'm tired." Terezi was trudging along behind him. She hadn't been speaking much, still upset about things that were not her business. Sometimes she could be so…_difficult_. It wasn't fair; he really did try his best. No matter what he did, how he did it, why—whatever, he still couldn't please her.

"We haven't found Rose yet."

"It's highly likely we _won't_ find Rose, Karkat. You don't even know where she went, what corner of this damn castle to which she and John disappeared. We could look for hours and not find anything, especially while you're leading."

Karkat stopped abruptly, Terezi knocking into him. He gave her a fierce look. "What do you mean by that?"

"Nothing!" There was a tremor in her voice.

"Look at me."

She looked through him, not meeting his stare directly.

Something was wrong.

"You don't look too hot."

"I told you, I'm tired."

He shook his head. The bleak light caused her fiery hair to dim, her eyes lacking the familiar luster and exuberance of the hunt. She was more than tired.

He raised a hand to her forehead. It was hot, the heat of a crackling fire radiating from her body. Had she caught something before they got here, or was it a new sickness? "Did you eat anything since we arrived?"

She shook her head. "No, haven't even had something to drink."

Worry crept up Karkat's spine. They really needed to find Rose now. Kanaya—team mom—was missing and Feferi had other issues to take care of. It could be a fever. First Aradia, now _this_. Maybe that monster had infected her with something contagious.

"You need to sit down."

"No, I don't, I'm staying with you."

"You're sick."

"Yeah, but where will I go?" She crossed her arms. "Do you even know where we are? Or how to get back?"

"I—"

"You don't. So stop, I'm not going to lie down or wait for you or something. I have an idea where they went, can you please let me lead?"

He sighed. He wasn't getting anywhere. "Fine, but please don't fall over or get yourself killed."

"That's your job."

* * *

**=== Be the shark-toothed girl **

Your name is Meenah Peixes, no relation to Feferi Peixes. You think, you're not completely sure. You _do _share a last name.

It's a mystery.

"What do you _mean_, you've been here for years?" asked the short, scrawny, green-eyed girl. She was tiny, _tiny_. Meenah wasn't the tallest of her bunch by a long shot, but she towered over this girl. She had to be barely five feet and weigh less than a stack of feathers. She could probably throw her with one hand, even soaking wet—

"I asked a question."

Meenah snapped out of her thoughts. "I mean exactly what I said, pipsqueak."

"Don't call me pipsqueak," she huffed. "I'm not that small."

"You're smaller than my dog."

She squirmed at that. Hah, definitely intimidated.

Meenah rested a hand on the wall, examining the grease under her nails. "I mean what I said, kid. I've been here for years, we all have. All of us but _your_ crowd, anyway. You're new additions. Not good additions, either."

"What?"

"The crazy one with the curly hair and freckles."

"Gamzee? What about him?"

"You saw what happened," she said with a quick smile, jumping back into step. "He's a terror, more than just sorta batty. Aranea wants to keep a close eye on him."

"Who?"

"Blue spider chick."

"…_Vriska?_"

"…who?"

"Blue spider chick."

Meenah opened her mouth, and then closed it, baffled. "I think we've hit a rock. I have a blue spider chick. She's annoying as kittens and doesn't shut up."

"Mine is violent."

"Two different girls."

The tiny green girl rolled her eyes. "Clearly."

"Anyway, mine wants to watch your crazy player. Fair enough, he seems to have caused a riot in the basement. We can hear it from where we are."

"And where are you?"

She grinned again, chilling the other girl. "That's a secret."

There was a flash of motion in her peripheral vision—violet. She sucked in a breath, grabbed the small girl by the collar, and pulled her into a vacant room. _Shit, shit, shit._

"Hey! What gives?"

"Someone I'm trying to avoid is wandering around and I _don't wanna see him_."

"An ex?"

"Kinda, yeah."

"I know how that is."

She raised an eyebrow. She guessed even tiny chicks could get it.

The small girl went to the door, pushing it open a crack. "You don't mean Eridan, do you?"

"Who?"

She opened the door wider. Across the hall was a boy dressed in the familiar, dreaded violet. He was shorter than the one she didn't want to see, but he had the same cocky swagger. The girl beside him only came up to his shoulder, wearing _her_ distinct fuchsia. Did this whole session shrink in the wash?

"Do you want to go see them?" the girl asked her.

"Nope, and neither do you, kid, we're going on an adventure. I have to find Porrim."

* * *

**=== Rose: Fiddle with your poison**

"I think I hear something."

Rose swung around. John was at the entrance of the hall, watching for any moment. She wasn't sure what he planned to do if anything came for them (he had a rubber mallet, of all useful objects), but he insisted to keep lookout.

"Something like a rat or something like a bigger thing?"

"I can't tell." He turned to her. "I think it's big, though."

She stood from her crouch, vile of putrid liquid in one hand. She needed it to clear the hall over—the hall full of the dripping, pulsating ooze—but it could be used to stun an intruder. She could always make more—it was just a hassle she'd rather not deal with.

"Do you need me over there?"

"Not yet. I can make out two silhouettes. They're arguing."

Rose frowned. _Arguing?_ Then it probably wasn't monsters. Monsters don't argue. She walked to where John stood poised to strike.

"I'm _perfectly fine!_ If you try to pick me up one more time, I swear to God!"

"You just fell over! That is not perfectly fine!"

She sighed. "Karkat and Terezi."

"Are you sure?"

"They're the only two that argue like that, I'm sure."

"I'm pretty sure Eridan and Feferi argue a lot, too."

Rose shook her head. "Not in the same way. They play-fight. Karkat and Terezi are constantly at each other's throats."

"Are they really?"

Rose rolled her eyes. "We should go see what's wrong."

John nodded and led the way out of the hallway to the balcony, where Karkat was following Terezi up the stairs. He seemed to be attempting to shadow her fully, in case she fell, Rose assumed. She didn't look very good, pale and flustered at the same time. There was a flush on her bare arms.

Oh.

No wonder he was freaking out.

"Karkat!" John called out.

Karkat looked up. "Thank fucking _God_. I thought we'd never find you two."

"Is everything all right?" she asked, hovering over the bannister, squinting to get a better look at Terezi.

"No."

"Yes!"

Rose glanced at John. He shrugged. "This won't be fun."

"Not in the slightest," she agreed. "Hurry on up, I'm not sure what's below you; we didn't use that staircase."

Terezi was in worse shape than Rose had originally thought. Her pupils were dilated, her hands were shaking, and her skin was on fire. "Have you been in contact with any foreign objects recently?"

"Only this whole house," Terezi scoffed.

"…Right. When did this start?"

"After being in that room with the dust and the blood."

Rose looked up to Karkat. "What?"

"Aradia…she's…"

"Kind of dead," Terezi finished.

"_Kind_ of dead?"

"She got blasted open by Vriska," Terezi spit. "She claims it was an accident, but I'm not so sure."

Rose swallowed. The first one down. How long until they all started dropping? She didn't trust this castle one iota, no. The creatures on the walls were enough for her to scowl, but the damage that seemed to be happening to the party—Gamzee's mental illness, Terezi's fever, Aradia's _death_—they wouldn't make it out unscratched. She swallowed her fear and blanked her face; she needed to remain calm, a statue. "Did you come in contact with her blood?"

She shook her head. "Wasn't anywhere near it."

John looked at Karkat. "What are you doing with the…the…"

"Body. It's called a body. Equius and Sollux are trying to make a robotic husk to store her soul, but the body's not being used."

Rose furrowed her brow. "How do you do that? That defies science."

"This world is a little weird," Terezi said, her words beginning to slur. "There are monsters and creepy voices. The laws of reality aren't applying."

"She'll be okay?"

Karkat and Terezi were silent. "Hopefully," Karkat said quietly. "It'll ruin him if she's not."

"Which one?" Rose asked.

Terezi shrugged. "Both of 'em." She winced, a hand shooting to her head. "I think I need to lie down."

Rose watched as she fell, Karkat's shout ringing in the echoing space.

* * *

**A/N: **haha, hi everyone.  
school sucks there's no time for everything.

Sorry this chapter's kind of short; I'm having trouble remember where the heck I was going with this. I didn't write the extensive ten-page-packet of notes I usually do. No worries, it will come back eventually, but not currently, so have a short chapter to end a long hiatus.

Awesome McCool Language: _Febris_ is Latin for fever

I wonder why...?

Thanks everyone for being patient!


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